THE  VAGRANT 

AND    OTHER    TALES 
BY 

VLADfMIR    KOROLENKO 

Cranslateti  from  tjje  Russian 

BY 

MRS.  ALINE   DELANO 


NEW    YORK 
THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

No.  13  AsTOR  Place 


Preservation 
copy  added 
original  to  be 
retained 

NOV  21 1994 


Copyright,  1887,  by 
Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 


fSk^ 


/ 


Electrotyped  by 
C.  J.  Peters  and  Son,  Boston. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Biographical  Note 1 

The  Old  Bell-Ringeb:  A  Spring  Idyl     ....  T 

The  Forest  Soughs:  A  Forest  Legend,    ....  19 

Easter  Night 65 

A  Saghalinian:  The  Tale  of  a  Vagrant    ....  78 
Sketches  of  a  Siberian  Tourist:  — 

I.    The  Cormorants 174 

II.    "  The    Hollow     Below    the    Devil's 

Finger"    . 180 

III.  "The  Slayer" 191 

IV.  A  Voltairian  of  Siberia  ......  232 

V.    The  Exterminator 247 

VI.    Yevseyitch 257 

VII.    The  Inspector 264 

VIII.    Ivan,  Aged  Thirty-Eight  Years  ...  269 

IX.    The  Investigation  Continued.    .    .    .  279 


m 


iiaess 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE. 


Vladimir  Korolenko  was  born  July,  1853, 
at  Jit6mir,  in  the  government  of  Volynia.  His 
father,  a  goverment  ofScial,  served  first  as 
judge,  then  as  district  attorney,  and  later  as 
district  judge  in  the  cities  of  Dubno  and 
R6vno  in  the  same  government,  where  he  died 
toward  the  end  of  the  sixties,  while  Korolenko 
was  still  in  the  Gymnasium. 

His  mother,  a  Pole,  the  daughter  of  a  well- 
to-do  landed  proprietor,  had  died  while  he  was 
still  quite  young,  leaving  six  children  —  four 
boys  and  two  girls.  On  the  death  of  the 
father,  the  family  was  left  without  any  means 
of  support,  for  the  judge,  a  man  of  high  prin- 
ciple, had  ever  resisted  all  attempts  at  bribery, 
so  prevalent  in  the  Russian  courts  of  the 
period,  and  had  lived  strictly  on  his  salary. 

In  1870,  Korolenko,  after  having  finished  his 
1 


2  BIOGRAPUICAL  NOTE, 

course  in  the  R6vno  Gymnasium,  graduated 
with  honor,  and  entered  the  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology in  St.  Petersburg.  On  arriving  at  the 
capital,  he  had  just  seventeen  rubles  in  his 
pocket,  and  for  two  years  he  struggled  with 
want  and  poverty,  spending  his  leisure  mo- 
ments in  the  fatiguing  and  unreraunerative 
employment  of  coloring  botanical  maps. 

During  the  third  year  of  his  course,  he 
removed  to  Moscow,  and  entered  the  Petr6vsk 
Agricultural  Academy.  In  the  year  1875,  the 
third  year  of  the  course  in  the  academy,  he 
was  banished  to  the  government  of  Vologda, 
for  participating  in  a  joint  address  presented 
by  the  students  of  the  academy  to  the  fac- 
ulty; but,  on  his  way  thither,  he  received 
orders  to  proceed  at  once  to  Kronstadt,  where 
his  family  resided,  and  to  place  himself  under 
the  surveillance  of  the  police.  When,  at  the 
end_  of  a  year,  this  surveillance  ceased,  he  was 
allowe^  to  remove,  with  his  family,  to  St. 
Petersburg,  where  he  remained  till  1879.  In 
February  of  that  year,  after  a  twice  repeated 
domiciliary  search,  Korol^nko  was  arrested, 
and,  together  with  his  brother,  his  cousin,  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE.  3 

his  brotlier-in-law,  banished  to  Gldzof,  in  the 
government  of  Vyatka;  thence  further  north, 
to  Vj'shne  Volotsk,  wliere  he  was  confined  in  a 
prison  for  political  convicts. 

No  explanations  whatever  were  vouchsafed 
him  concerning  the  proceedings;  he  simply- 
learned  that  he  was  shortly  to  go  to  Siberia, 
probably  to  a  place  such  as  even  "Makdr 
never  drove  his  calves  to,"  as  the  Russian 
proverb  aptly  expresses  it.  It  is  only  recently 
that  he  chanced  to  discover  the  fact  that  these 
punishments  were  awarded  for  an  escape  from 
prison,  which  was  attributed  to  him,  but  which, 
in  reality,  he  had  never  attempted. 

In  1880,  during  Korolenko's  confinement  in 
the  Vyshne-Vol6tsk  prison,  L6ris-Melikof  sent 
Prince  Im^ritinsky  to  investigate  the  condition 
of  the  political  prisoners,  and  to  report  to  him 
the  causes  and  circumstances  of  their  incarcera- 
tion ;  and  when,  in  the  following  August,  Koro- 
lenko  had  already  started  with  a  party  for 
Siberia,  his  sentence  of  exile  to  Yakutsk  was 
rescinded,  probably  as  a  result  of  this  investi- 
gation, and  he  was  allowed  to  return  to^Perm, 
where  he  began  his  literary  career.         •   /     ^ 


4  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE. 

In  1881,  on  the  coronation  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander  III.,  he  refused  to  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance,  and,  as  a  consequence  of  his  refusal, 
was  banished  to  the  Yakut  district  in  Siberia ; 
and  this  time  he  did  not  fail  to  reach  his  desti- 
nation. He  arrived  at  Amgee,  and  there, 
settling  with  some  of  his  former  comrades, 
remained  three  years,  occupying  himself  with 
agriculture.  At  the  expiration  of  his  term  of 
exile,  he  returned  to  Novgorod,  where  most  of 
the  members  of  his  family  had  assembled,  and 
where  he  lives  at  the  present  time. 

His  first  literary  sketches  had  appeared  in 
1879,  and,  although  his  exile  somewhat  inter- 
fered with  his  work,  he  still  continued  to  write, 
as  his  family,  deprived  of  all  its  bread-winners, 
sadly  needed  the  money  he  could  thus  earn. 
Many  of  his  earlier  sketches,  written  at  this 
period,  failed  to  make  a  lasting  impression  — 
a  fact  which  discouraged  him,  and  for  a  time 
induced  him  to  abandon  further  attempts. 
Yet  the  scenes  through  which  he  had  passed 
during  his  exile  haunted  and  distressed  him, 
and  he  often  found  relief  in  jotting  them  down 
on   paper.      Some   of    these  were   printed   in 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE,  5 

1885,  and  at  once  won  for  liim  a  place  in  the 
ranks  of  popular  Russian  authors. 

"Makar's  Dream,"  "Sketclies  of  a  Siberian 
Tourist,"  and  ''A  Saghalinian"  are  pictures  of 
Siberian  life ;  "  In  Bad  Society "  contains  a 
description  of  South-west  Russia,  including  the 
city  where  Korol^nko  completed  his  studies. 
"The  Forest  Soughs  "  is  a  weird  and  romantic 
legend  of  Little  Russia,  and  in  "The  Blind 
Musician  "  he  pictures  the  deep  pathos  of  a 
blind  man's  life.  Confining  himself  strictly  to 
the  mental  sufferings  that  arise  from  blindness, 
he  does  not  allow  these  to  be  enhanced  by 
untoward  fortune ;  therefore  he  places  his  hero 
in  exceptionally  favorable  circumstances. 

In  his  tales  Korolenko  often  carries  his  read- 
ers to  distant  and  unknown  countries,  and  de- 
scribes strange  and  unfamiliar  types ;  but  in  his 
last  sketches,  of  "Prokhor  and  the  Student" 
and  "In  the  Factory,"  he  leaves  his  beloved 
Little  Russia  and  Siberia,  and  transports  us 
into  Central  Russia,  to  the  commonplace  atmos- 
phere of  Moscow. 

Korol^nko's  chief  merit  is  his  artistic  sim- 
plicity.     Whether    he    describes    a    Siberian 


6  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE. 

yourt,  a  prison-cell,  or  the  vagrant  Bagylai, 
one  feels  that  it  is  the  result  of  liis  personal 
observations,  and  that  his  heart  goes  out  in 
sympathy  toward  the  "unfortunates,"  with 
whom  it  was  his  fate  to  spend  several  years. 


THE  OLD  BELL-RINGER. 


A   SPRING  IDYL. 


It  was  growing  dark  ;  over  the  horizon  line, 
where  the  tree-tops  met  the  sky,  the  full  moon 
was  rising,  giving  as  yet  but  little  light.  .  .  . 
The  small  village  nestling  beside  the  distant 
river  was  shrouded  in  the  half-light  peculiar  to 
spring  nights,  when  the  veiled  moon  hangs 
pensively  above  the  horizon,  and  the  fog  rising 
from  the  ground  deepens  the  long  shadows  in 
the  woods  and  fills  the  open  spaces  with  a 
silvery  blue  twilight.  .  .  .  All  was  still,  pen- 
sive, and  sad  .  .  .  while  the  village  quietly 
slumbered. 

The  outlines  of  the  wretched  huts  were 
barely  visible;  a  few  lights  glimmered  here 
and  there ;  at  times  a  gate  creaked,  or  a  watch- 
ful dog  gave  an  occasional  bark.  Once  in  a 
while  the  form  of  some  traveller,  pedestrian  or 
horseman,  would  appear  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  faintly  murmuring  forest,  or  a 
7 


8  THE  BELL-RINGER. 

cart  go  creaking  along.  These  were  the  dwell- 
ers of  the  distant  wood-lots  hastening  to  their 
church  for  tlie  spring  holiday.  The  church 
stood  on  a  hillock  in  tlie  centre  of  the  village. 
Its  windows  were  brightly  lighted,  while  its 
tall  belfry,  ancient  and  dark,  was  lost  in  the 
depths  of  the  blue  sky. 

One  could  hear  a  creaking  on  the  stairs  .  .  . 
it  was  the  old  bell-ringer  Mikheyitch  mount- 
ing to  the  belfry,  and  presently  his  lantern, 
like  a  falling  star,  seemed  to  be  suspended  in 
space.  .  .  . 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  old  man 
climbed  the  steep  stairs.  His  feet  refused  to 
serve  him ;  he  was  worn  out,  and  his  eyesight 
was  dim.  .  .  .  He  ought  to  have  been  at  rest 
long  ago,  but  death  had  passed  him  by.  He 
had  buried  his  sons  and  his  grandsons,  had 
seen  both  the  old  and  the  young  go  to  their 
graves,  and  still  he  lived  on.  It  was  sad  to 
see  him.  .  .  .  Year  after  year  he  had  seen  the 
spring  holiday,  and  could  not  remember  the 
number  of  times  he  had  waited  for  the  solemn 
hour  in  this  very  belfry.     And  now  once  more 


THE  BELL-BINGEB.  Q 

it  was  God's  will  that  he  should  be  there.  .  .  . 
He  went  up  to  the  opening  in  the  wall,  and 
leaned  on  the  railing.  Around  the  church,  in 
the  darkness  below,  lay  the  graves  of  the  vil- 
lage burying-ground, —  the  old  crosses  extend- 
ing their  arms  above  them  with  an  air  of 
protection;  a  few  leafless  birches  leaned  over 
them,  and  a  fragrant  odor  of  young  buds 
reached  Mikh^yitch,  bringing  with  it  a  sense  of 
the  calm  melancholy  of  eternal  re^t.  •  .  . 

In  a  year  hence  where  will  he  be  ?  Will  he 
ever  climb  again  to  this  height,  beneath  the 
brass  bells,  and  wake  the  slumbering  night  with 
an  echoing  peal?  or  will  he  lie  in  some  dark 
corner  of  the  graveyard,  under  a  cross  ?  God 
knows !  .  .  .  He  was  ready,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, God  had  granted  him  once  more  the  hap- 
piness of  seeing  the  holiday. 

Lifting  his  eyes  to  the  star-lit  sky  as  he 
crossed  himself,  his  old  lips  whispered  the 
familiar  formula,  "  God  be  praised  !  " 


"Mikh^yitch  !  —  I  say,  Mikh^yitch!"  an  old 
man's  voice  called  out  from  below ;  and  the 
hoary-headed  subdeacon  gazed  up  at  the  belfry, 


AR  y^ 

-HZ 


10  THE  BELL-RINGER. 

shielding  his  blinking  eyes  with  his  hand, 
striving  in  vain  to  see  Mikh^yitch. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Here  I  am,"  replied  the  bell- 
ringer,  looking  down.     "  Can't  you  see  me  ?  "  * 

"  No,  I  can't.  ...  I  think  it  must  be  time  to 
begin.     What  do  you  say  ?  .  .  ." 

Both  turned  their  eyes  upward  to  the  stars. 
Myriads  of  God's  lights  twinkled  on  high.  The 
fiery  Wagoner  was  already  far  above  the  hori- 
zon, and  Mikheyitch  meditated. 

"  No,  wait  a  little.  ...  I  know  when  to  be- 
gin. .  .  ." 

Truly  he  knew,  without  a  clock  to  guide 
him  ;  God's  stars  were  his  timepiece.  .  .  .  The 
heavens,  the  earth,  the  white  clouds  flitting 
slowly  through  the  air,  the  dark  forest  yonder, 
with  its  indistinct  murmur,  and  the  rippling  of 
the  river  shrouded  in  the  darkness,  —  all  was 
familiar  to  him.  .  .  .  He  had  not  spent  his  life 
in  vain,  .  .  .  The  remote  past  came  up  before 
him.  .  .  .  He  remembered  when,  with  his  father, 
he  climbed  to  this  belfry  for  the  first  time.  .  .  , 
Heavens  !  how  long  ago  that  was,  and  yet  how 
recent  it  seemed !  .  .  .  He  remembered  himself 
a  fair-haired  lad :  his  eyes  sparkled ;  the  wind 


THE  BELL-RINGER,  H 

—  not  the  wind  that  raises  the  dust  in  the 
streets,  but  a  peculiar  kind,  that  fans  the  earth 
with  its  noiseless  wings  —  tossed  his  hair.  .  .  • 
Below,  far,  far  away,  he  saw  tiny  human 
beings  walking  about,  and  the  village  houses 
too  looked  dwarfish ;  the  forest  seemed  to 
have  receded  into  the  distance,  and  the  oval- 
shaped  meadow,  where  the  village  stood,  ex- 
tended, apparently,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  ... 

"And  can  it  be  no  larger  than  this  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  old  man,  with  a  smile,  as  he  gazed 
at  the  little  meadow.  It  was  like  his  own  life. 
•  .  .  When  he  was  young,  he  could  hardly  real- 
ize its  end  .  .  .  And  now,  behold !  it  lay,  so  to 
speak,  in  his  palm,  from  the  beginning  to  yon- 
der grave,  which  he  had  chosen.  .  .  .  Well, 
thank  God  !  It  was  time  for  him  to  rest.  He 
had  honestly  borne  the  burden  of  the  day,  and 
the  moist,  cool  earth  seemed  like  a  mother  to 
him.  .  .  .  Soon,  very  soon !  .  .  . 

But  now  the  hour  has  come  !  Glancing  once 
more  at  the  stars,  Mikheyitch  rose,  took  off  his 
hat,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  gathered 


12  TUE  BELL-BINGEIi. 

up  the  bell-ropes.  ...  A  minute  later  and  the 
night  air  quivered  with  the  first  stroke  of  the 
resonant  bells.  Swiftly-they  came,  stroke  after 
stroke,  filling  the  expectant  night  with  their 
deep,  harmonious  voices. 

The  ringing  ceased.  Services  had  begun  in 
church.  It  had  always  been  his  habit  to  go 
down  and  take  up  his  place  in  the  corner, 
by  the  door,  where  he  would  pray  and  listen 
to  the  singing;  but  now  he  remained  up- 
stairs. It  was  not  so  easy  for  him  to  walk  as 
once  it  was,  and  he  felt  a  certain  weariness. 
He  seated  himself  on  the  bench,  and,  listening 
to  the  low  vibrations  of  the  music,  he  fell  into 
a  reverie.  Wiiat  was  he  thinking  of?  He 
could  hardly  have  answered  the  question.  .  .  . 
The  feeble  light  of  his  lantern  fell  on  the 
belfry  spire,  where  the  still  vibrating  bells 
were  lost  in  the  darkness ;  he  could  hear  the 
chant  from  the  church  below,  and  the  night 
air  gently  stirred  the  ropes  that  hung  from  the 
iron  tongues  of  the  bells.  The  old  man's  head 
drooped  upon  his  breast;  his  brain  was  alive 
with  confused  and  wandering  fancies.     "Now 


THE  BELL-RINGEB.  13 

they  are  singing  the  sequence,"  he  thought, 
and  imagined  liimself  in  church,  where  a  score 
of  children's  voices  were  singing  in  the  choir; 
and  old  Father  Nahum,  long  since  dead,  intoned 
the  pra3^ers  with  his  quavering  voice ;  hundreds 
of  voices  rose  and  fell,  like  ripened  stalks  of 
grain  blown  by  the  wind.  .  .  .  The  peasants 
crossed  themselves.  .  .  .  All  these  persons 
were  familiar  to  him,  and  yet  they  were  all 
the  faces  of  the  departed.  .  .  .  Here  he  beheld 
the  severe  outlines  of  his  father's  face ;  there 
was  his  older  brother  standing  beside  him, 
earnestly  praying  and  heaving  many  a  sigh. 
And  he  himself  stood  there  in  the  bloom  of 
vigor  and  strength,  filled  with  vague  longings 
for  the  happiness  and  the  delights  of  lifco  .  .  . 
And  where  was  that  happiness  now?  .  .  .  The 
old  man's  thoughts  were  like  a  flickering  flame, 
illuminating  by  flashes  all  the  by-ways  of  his 
past  life.  .  .  .  Hard  labor,  sorrow,  care  .  .  . 
where  was  the  happiness?  A  hard  lot  will 
trace  furrows  even  on  a  young  face,  will 
bow  the  sturdy  frame,  and  teach  a  lesson 
in  sighing,  even  as  it  had  taught  the  older 
brother. 


14  THE  BELL-RINGER. 

There  on  the  left,  among  the  peasant  women, 
humbly  bowing  her  head,  lo  !  there  stood  his 
sweetheart.  A  good  woman,  may  she  inherit 
the  kingdom  of  Heaven !  Poor  creature,  she 
had  suffered  much  !  .  .  .  Poverty,  hard  work, 
and  the  never  ending  sorrows  of  a  woman's 
^  life  will  wither  her  beauty,  and  dim  the  lustre 
of  her  eyes ;  the  proud  grace  of  a  maiden  suc- 
cumbs to  the  unexpected  strokes  of  misfortune, 
and  a  look  of  mute  apprehension  settles  on  her 
face.  .  .  .  Again  the  question,  where  was  her 
happiness?  .  .  .  They  had  one  son,  their  hope 
and  their  joy ;  but  he  proved  too  frail  to  resist 
temptation.  ... 

And  behold  his  old  enemy  as,  with  genuflec- 
tions, he  prayed  to  be  forgiven  for  the  many 
tears  he  had  brought  to  orphans'  eyes ;  just 
then  he  made  a  hasty  sign  of  the  cross,  and, 
falling  on  his  knees,  touched  his  forehead  to  the 
ground  .  .  ,  while  Mikheyitch's  heart  boiled 
within  him,  and  the  dark  faces  of  the  iko7is 
looked  sternly  from  the  wall  on  human  grief 
and  human  wickedness.  .  .  . 

All  this  is  past  and  left  behind.  .  .  .  Now 
his  world   is   bounded  by  this  gloomy  watch- 


THE  BELL-BINGEB,  15 

tower,  where  the  Aviiid  whistles  in  the  dark- 
ness as  it  stirs  the  ropes.  ..."  May  God  be 
your  judge ! "  whispered  the  old  man,  and 
dropped  his  gray  head,  while  the  tears  slowly 
trickled  down  his  cheeks.  .  .  . 

"  Mikhdyitch !  —  I  say,  Mikheyitch  !  —  are 
you  asleep?"  called  out  a  voice  from  below. 

"  What  is  wanted?  "  answered  the  old  man, 
rising  quickly.  Heavens !  could  he  have  fall- 
en asleep !  —  That  would  have  been  shame- 
ful !  Never  before  had  a  thing  like  that  hap- 
pened to  him ;  and  with  a  swift  and  practised 
hand  he  seized  the  ropes. 

The  moving  mass  of  peasants,  seen  from  above, 
looked  like  a  swarming  ant-hill.  The  gold  bro- 
cade of  the  church  banners  sparkled  as  the}^  flut- 
tered in  the  air.  .  .  .  The  procession  had  made 
the  circuit  of  the  church,  and  when  Mikheyitch 
heard  the  joyous  call,  "  Christ  is  arisen  from  the 
dead!"  it  found  fervent  response  in  the  heart 
of  the  old  man.  ...  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
the  tapers  were  burning  brighter,  and  as  if  the 
crowd  were  moving  more  swiftly ;  the  ban- 
ners fluttered,  and  the  rising  wind  wafted 
the    sound   of    the    music    up   to    the    heights 


16  THE  BELL-lilNGEB. 

beyond,     where    it    blended    with    the    loud, 
solemn  pealing  of  the  bells. 

Never  before  had  old  Mikh^yitch  rung  like 
this !  It  seemed  as  though  the  old  man's  heart 
had  entered  into  the  inanimate  metal,  and  the 
voices  of  the  bells  alternately  sang  and 
laughed  and  cried,  blending  in  a  magnificent 
concord,  that  rose  to  the  sky,  where  the  stars 
shone  more  and  more  brilliantly,  and  then  fell 
trembling  through  the  air,  and  clung  at  last  to 
the  earth  with  a  loving  embrace.  .  .  . 

The  deep,  powerful  tones  of  the  bass  bell 
united  with  the  high  and  joyful  tenors  pro- 
claiming to  Heaven  and  Earth,  ''  Christ  is 
arisen ! " 

And  the  two  small  soprani,  as  if  in  fear  of 
being  outstripped,  crowded  in  among  the 
stronger  voices,  singing  like  little  children,  in 
hurried,  gleeful  tones,  "  Christ  is  arisen  !  " 

And  the   old  belfry  seemed  to  quiver  and 
shake,  and  the  wind  waved  its  mighty  wings, 
repeating,  "  Christ  is  arisen  !  "     The  aged  heart 
forgot  its  life,  so  full  of  care  and  sorrow.  .  .  . 
The  old  bell-ringer  no  longer  remembered  that 


THE  BELL-BINGER,  17 

for  him  the  scene  of  life  was  bounded  by  a 
dreary  and  narrow  belfry,  that  he  was  alone  in 
the  world,  like  an  old  stump,  broken  by  the 
storm.  .  .  .  He  listened  to  these  sounds  of 
song  and  praise,  that  mounted  up  to  heaven 
and  embraced  the  sorrowful  earth,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  surrounded  by 
sons  and  grandsons,  that  these  voices  were  all 
his  own,  both  young  and  old,  blending  into  a 
single  choir,  and  singing  to  him  of  the  joy  and 
happiness  which  he  had  not  tasted  in  his  life. 
.  .  .  He  pulled  the  ropes,  and  the  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks,  and  his  heart  beat  violently 
with  this  dream  of  happiness.  .  .  . 

The  people  below,  as  they  listened,  said  one 
to  the  other,  "  Never  before  has  old  Mikheyitch 
rung  so  well."  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  big  bell  gave  forth  an  uncer- 
tain sound,  and  ceased.  ...  The  smaller  ones, 
as  though  abashed,  rang  one  unfinished  tone, 
and  they  too  stopped,  and  seemed  to  listen  to 
the  mournful  echo  of  the  prolonged  note 
which  trembled  in  the  air  until  it  died 
away.  .  .  .  The   old  bell-ringer   fell   back   on 


18  THE  BELL-RINGER. 

the   bench,   and    the    last    two    tears    slowly 
rolled   down   his   white   cheeks.  .  .  . 

Ho,  there !   Send  up  a  substitute !     The  old 
bell-ringer  has  rung  his  last  stroke.  .  .  . 


THE  FOREST   SOUGHS. 


A  FOREST   LEGEND. 


"  In  the  days  of  old  Lang  Syne ! " 

The  forest  soughed.  .  .  . 

The  forest  always  soughed,  now  with  a 
murmur  cahn  and  prolonged,  like  the  echo  of 
distant  ringing,  and  again  soft  and  gentle,  like 
a  song  without  words  or  a  dim  memory  of  the 
past.  It  always  soughed,  for  it  was  an  old 
and  mighty  forest,  still  untouched  by  the  saw 
or  the  axe  of  woodman  or  trader.  The  tall, 
centennial  pines,  with  their  vast  trunks,  stood 
like  threatening  warriors,  and  their  green  tops 
formed  a  massive  wall.  Everything  below  was 
still ;  the  air  was  filled  with  an  odor  of  resin. 
Ferns  of  vivid  hues  pushed  their  way  through 
the  carpet  of  pine-needles  with  which  the 
ground  was  strewn,  expanding  luxuriantly 
and  resting  thereon,  like  a  soft  fringe,  without 
stirring  a  leaf.  In  the  damp  corners  the  green 
19 


20  TUE  FOBEST  SOUGHS. 

grass  shot  up  its  tall  and  slender  stems,  and 
the  white  clover,  heavy  with  bloom,  drooped 
its  languid  head;  while  over  all  soughed  the 
forest,  w4th  long-drawn,  indistinguishable  sighs. 

Now  the  sighs  were  growing  deeper  and 
louder ;  and  as  I  rode  along  the  forest  path, 
although  I  could  not  see  the  sky,  I  judged  by 
the  moaning  of  the  trees  that  heavy  clouds 
were  slowly  rising  above  it.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Here  and  there  a  sunbeam 
made  its  way,  but  in  the  dense  woods  the 
twilight  was  spreading  rapidly.  Evidently  a 
storm  was  brewing. 

All  plans  for  hunting  must  be  given  up  for 
to-day.  The  storm  might  overtake  me  before 
I  could  find  shelter  for  the  night.  My  horse 
snorted  and  pricked  up  his  ears,  when,  striking 
his  hoofs  against  the  naked  roots,  he  heard  the 
sharp  sound  of  the  forest  echo,  and  he  quick- 
ened his  pace  as  he  drew  near  a  familiar  hut. 

A  dog  barked,  and  whitewashed  walls  glim- 
mered through  the  trees.  A  bluish  ribbon  of 
smoke  curled  above  the  overhanging  foliage ; 
and  the  crooked  hut,  with  its  shaggy  roof,  came 
in   sight,  nestling   against   the   trunks  of  the 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  21 

trees.  It  seemed  as  though  it  grew  out  of  the 
earth,  while  the  tall,  sleuder  pines  tossed  their 
heads  above  it ;  beyond,  in  the  middle  of  the 
clearing,  rose  a  clump  of  young  oaks,  clustering 
togetlier. 

Here  lived  the  constant  companions  of  my 
hunting  expeditions,  the  forest  guards,  Maxim 
and  Zakhar,  who  were  evidently  not  at  home, 
since  the  barking  of  the  large  shepherd  dog 
brought  no  one  to  meet  me.  The  grandfather, 
with  his  bald  head  and  long  beard,  sat  alone 
on  the  bench  making  bast  shoes.  His  beard 
reached  almost  to  his  waist,  and  his  eyes 
looked  dim,  as  though  he  were  vainly  trying 
to  recollect  something. 

"  Hallo,  grandfather  !    Is  any  one  at  home  ?  " 

"  Eh^  I  "  *  muttered  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
Iiead ;  "  neither  Zakhar  nor  Maxim  is  in,  and 
M6trya  has  also  gone  into  the  woods  to  fetch 
the  cow  ...  for  she  has  strayed  away  .  .  . 
may  be  the  bears  have  got  her.  .  .  .  So,  you 
see,  no  one  is  at  home." 

"Never  mind;  I  will  wait  and  keep  you 
company." 

*  An  exclamation  common  in  Little  Russia. 


22  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

"  That's  right,"  he  replied,  nodding,  and,  as 
I  fastened  my  horse  to  an  oak  branch,  he 
peered  at  me  with  his  bleared  e3^es.  The  old 
man  was  getting  feeble.  He  could  scarcely 
see,  and  his  hands  shook. 

"  And  who  may  you  be,  my  lad  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  I  joined  him  on  the  bench. 

He  asked  the  same  question  every  time  I 
came. 

"  Eh6  !  I  know  now,"  he  said,  as  he  resumed 
his  work.  "  My  head  is  like  an  old  sieve ;  it 
holds  nothing.  Those  who  are  long  since' dead 
I  remember  very  well,  —  but  I  forget  the 
younger  people.  .  .  .  The  fact  is,  I  have  lived 
too  long." 

"  And  how  long  have  you  lived  in  this  forest, 
grandfather  ?  " 

"  A  long  time  !  I  was  living  here  when  the 
Frenchman  invaded  the  land  of  the  Tsar." 

"  You  must  have  seen  a  good  deal  in  your 
lifetime ;  you  could  relate  many  a  tale." 

The  old  man  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  What  could  I  see,  my  lad  ?  The  forest. 
•  .  .  The  forest  soughs  night  and  day,  summer 
and  winter,  and  I,  like  that  tree  yonder,  have 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  23 

spent  my  life  in  these  woods,  and  have  never 
had  a  chance  to  see.  ...  It  is  time  to  die,  and 
sometimes,  when  I  try  to  think,  I  cannot  un- 
derstand clearly  whether  or  no  I  have  lived  in 
this  world.  .  .  .  Ehd  !  So  it  goes !  It  may  be 
that  I  have  not  lived.  .  .  ." 

The  edge  of  the  dark  cloud  appeared 
above  the  high  tree-tops  of  the  clearing.  The 
branches  of  the  pines  which  encircled  it 
swayed,  as  they  were  blown  by  the  wind,  and 
a  prolonged  murmur  passed  like  a  crescendo 
chord.  The  grandfather  raised  his  head  and 
listened. 

"  The  storm  is  coming  nearer,"  he  remarked 
a  moment  later.  "  I  know  it.  What  a  battle 
there  will  be  to-night !  It  will  break  down 
the  pines  and  uproot  them.  .  .  .  The  Spirit  of 
the  Forest  will  have  full  sway,  .  .  •"  he  added, 
in  an  undertone. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  grandfather  ?  " 

"  Eh^  !  I  am  sure  of  it !  I  know  the  lan- 
guage of  the  trees.  .  .  .  They  too  are  afraid, 
my  lad.  .  .  .  The  aspen  is  a  cursed  tree  ; 
always  whispering ;  it  shakes  when  there  is 
no   wind.      When   the   day   is   fair,   the   pine 


24  THE  fouest  soughs. 

sings  at  its  play ;  let  the  wind  rise,  and  it 
beo^ins  to  souHi  and  moan.  But  this  is  noth- 
ing.  Hark !  Though  my  eyes  are  dim,  my 
ears  are  still  good.  I  can  hear  the  oaks  stir- 
ring on  the  clearing.  .  .  .  That  is  a  sign  of  a 
storm." 

And,  in  fact,  the  group  of  sturdy  oaks  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  meadow,  protected  by 
the  woods  as  by  a  wall,  waved  their  strong 
branches,  rustling  loudly,  with  a  sound  unlike 
the  murmuring  of  the  pines. 

"Eh^  !  Don't  you  hear  it,  my  lad?"  said 
the  grandfather,  smiling  in  his  innocent,  child- 
like way.  "I  know  what  it  means  when  the 
oaks  rustle.  The  Master  of  the  Forest  will  come 
at  night  and  make  sad  havoc.  .  .  .  But  even  he 
cannot  break  them  !  The  oak  is  a  strong  tree  ; 
the  Master  himself  cannot  break  it.  .  .  .  That 
is  the  truth !  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  Master,  grand- 
father? You  said,  just  now,  it  was  the  storm 
that  broke  them." 

The  old  man  nodded  with  a  knowing  air. 

"Eh^  !  I  know  something.  .  .  .  The  world 
is  full  of  people  nowadays  who  believe  in  noth- 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  25 

ing.  That  is  the  trouble.  But  I  have  seen 
him  as  I  see  you  now,  and  perhaps  even  better; 
for  now  my  eyes  are  dim,  but  in  my  young 
days,  I  tell  you,  they  were  keen  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  you  saw  him, 
grandfather." 

"It  was  a  day  very  like  this:  the  pines 
began  to  moan.  .  .  .  Generally  they  murmur, 
but  before  a  storm  they  always  moan  .  .  .  ooo 
.  .  .  000  .  .  .  then  silence  for  a  while  .  .  . 
and  then  again  the  moaning,  faster  and  faster 
and  more  pitiful.  Eh^  !  That's  because  they 
know  the  Master  means  to  lay  many  of  them 
low  in  the  night.  Later  the  oaks  begin  to 
murmur,  louder  and  louder,  and  by  night 
comes  the  havoc ;  the  Master  runs  to  and 
fro,  laughs  and  cries,  whirls  and  dances,  trying 
to  uproot  the  oaks.  .  .  .  Once,  in  the  autumn, 
I  spied  him  from  the  window.  That  angered 
him ;  running  up  to  the  window,  he  gave  it  a 
blow  with  a  branch,  that  came  very  near  disfig- 
uring me,  may  the  Evil  One  take  him  !  But  I 
am  not  a  fool ;  I  jumped  back !  Ehe,  my  lad, 
he  is  a  cross  one  ! " 

''What  does  he  look  like  ?" 


26  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

"He  looks  like  an  old,  dried-up  willow  in 
the  swamp.  Very  much  like  one !  .  .  .  His 
hair  is  like  the  mistletoe,  that  grows  on  trees, 
and  his  beard  the  same  .  .  .  his  nose  is  like  a 
big  twig  .  .  .  and  his  face  is  covered  with  pim- 
ples. Fa!  what  a  fright  he  is  I  Heaven  pre- 
serve any  Christian  from  looking  like  him,  to 
be  sure !  Another  time  I  was  very  near  him  in 
the  swamp.  ...  If  you  come  here  in  ^yinter, 
you  may  see  him  yourself.  Go  up  that  hill, 
the  wooded  one,  and  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
highest  tree.  You  may  see  him  from  there 
some  day.  .  .  .  He  soars  like  a  white  cloud 
above  the  trees,  whirling  as  he  descends  from 
the  hill  into  the  woods.  .  .  .  He  travels  rapidly 
and  vanishes  in  the  forest !  Eh^  !  And  wher- 
ever he  passes  he  leaves  a  white  trail.  If  you 
don't  believe  me,  you  may  see  for  yourself 
some  time." 

The  old  man  had  grown  garrulous.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  restless  murmur  of  the 
forest  and  the  impending  storm  had  stirred  his 
old  blood.  He  nodded,  smiling  and  blinking 
at  me  with  his  faded  eyes. 

But  suddenly  a  shadow  darkened  his  high, 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  27 

wrinkled  forehead,  and,  nudging  me  with  his 
elbow,  he  said  in  a  mysterious  way  :  — 

"I  tell  you  what,  my  lad  !  ...  to  be  sure, 
the  Master  of  the  Forest  is  an  uncanny  creat- 
ure, and  a  Christian  had  better  keep  out  of 
his  sight,  —  but  it  must  be  acknowledged 
he  does  no  great  harm.  .  .  .  lie  may  play  a 
prank  or  two,  but  he  will  not  really  hurt  a 
body." 

"I  thought  you  said  just  now,  grandfather, 
that  he  was  about  to  strike  you  with  a 
branch?" 

"Well,  he  did  intend  to!  But  what  of 
that?  He  was  angry  then,  because  I  was 
looking  at  him  ;  that  was  the  trouble.  But 
if  a  body  minds  his  own  business,  he  will 
not  harm  him.  That  is  the  nature  of  the 
Forest  Spirit!" 

The  grandfather  hung  his  head  in  silence. 
But  when  he  looked  up,  a  spark  of  awakening 
memory  seemed  to  gleam  in  his  dim  eyes. 

"I  will  tell  you  a  true  story  about  our  forest, 
my  lad.  .  .  .  Something  happened  here,  on  this 
very  spot,  a  long  time  ago.  ...  I  remember  it 
mostly  as  a  dream  .  .  .  but  when  the   forest 


28  THE  FOBEST  SOUGUS. 

soiiglis   it   comes   back  to  me  distinctly. 
Shall  I  tell  it  to  you?" 

"  Pray,  do  so  ! " 

"Very  well,  then.     Listen." 


II. 

"My  father  and  mother  died  when  I  was 
but  a  young  lad  .  .  .  leaving  me  alone  in  the 
world.  That's  how  I  fared!  So  the  village 
society  had  to  consider  the  business,  '  What 
is  to  be  done  with  the  boy  ? '  Our  master  also 
thought  the  matter  over.  .  .  .  Just  then  the 
forester  Romdn,  who  happened  to  come  from 
the  woods,  said  to  the  society  :  '  Give  this  lad 
to  me  ...  I  will  take  care  of  him.  It  will 
make  it  more  cheerful  for  me,  and  I  will  bear 
the  burden  of  his  support.'  That  is  what  he 
said,  and  the  society  gave  its  consent.  So  he 
took  me,  and  I  have  lived  in  the  forest  ever 
since.  And  so  Roman  brought  me  up.  What 
an  imposing  man  he  was.  Heaven  save  us ! 
Tall,  black-eyed,  and  black-haired,  and  a  gloomy 
soul  seemed  to  look  out  from  his  eyes  .  .  . 
for  lie  had  lived  all  his  life  alone  in  the  woods : 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  29 

it  was  said  of  bim  that  the  bear  was  his  brother 
and  the  wolf  his  nephew.  He  knew  all  the 
beasts,  and  feared  none;  but  he  kept  shy  of 
people,  and  rarely  looked  at  them.  .  .  .  He  was 
that  kind  of  a  man.  Whenever  he  glanced  at 
me,  I  felt  the  cold  shivers  running  up  my  back. 
Yet  he  was  a  kind  man,  I  must  say,  and  he  fed 
me  well.  There  was  always  plenty  of  lard  in 
his  buckwheat  gruel,  and  when  he  happened  to 
kill  a  duck  we  ate  it.  I  must  admit  he  fed  me 
well.  .  .  . 

''And  so  we  lived  on  together.  Whenever 
Roman  went  into  the  woods,  he  used  to  lock 
me  up  in  the  hut,  that  the  wild  beasts  might 
not  get  me.  And  after  a  while  he  took  a  wife, 
Oxanua. 

"The  master  gave  him  his  wife.  One  day 
he  summoned  him  and  said :  '  You  must  marry, 
Koman  ! '  But  Romdn  said  to  him :  '  What 
the  deuce  should  I  want  to  marry  for?  What 
shall  I  do  with  a  woman  in  the  woods?  I  don't 
want  to  marry.'  He  was  not  used  to  women, 
you  see.  But  the  master  was  a  cunning  one. 
...  As  I  think  of  him  now,  my  lad,  I  must 
acknowledge   there  are  none  such  at  present. 


30  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS, 

.  .  .  they  have  all  died  out.  .  .  .  Now,  I  have 
been  told  that  you  are  a  nobleman.  .  .  .  That 
may  be,  and  yet  there  is  something  you  lack. 
.  .  .   You  look  like  any  ordinary  lad.  .  .  . 

"But  he  was  a  genuine  one,  after  the  old 
fashion.  It  often  happens  in  this  world  that 
thousands  of  people  stand  in  awe  of  a  single 
man  .  .  .  deeply  in  awe.  Look  at  the  vulture 
and  the  chicken  as  they  come  out  of  the  shell. 
The  vulture  at  once  tries  to  soar;  and  when 
he  utters  his  cry,  not  only  chickens  but  old 
roosters  are  frightened.  ...  So  one  might  say 
that  the  vulture  was  a  noble  bird,  and  the  hen 
a  low-born  one.  .  .  . 

"I  remember,  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  I  used 
to  see  the  peasants  carting  heavy  timber,  may- 
be some  thirty  of  them.  And  the  master  per- 
haps riding  out  alone,  on  horseback,  twirling 
his  whiskers  as  he  rode  along ;  his  horse  caper- 
ing, and  he  gazing  around.  And  when  the 
peasants  caught  sight  of  him,  such  a  rush  as 
there  would  be !  The  horses  turned  out  mto 
the  snow,  and  all  hats  came  off.  Then,  after 
he  had  passed,  what  hard  work  it  was  to  pull 
the  timber  out !  —  while  he  would  go  galloping 


THE  FOBEST  SOUGHS,  31 

along,  as  though  the  road  were  too  narrow  even 
for  him  alone  !  If  he  frowned,  the  peasants 
trembled ;  if  he  laughed,  they  brightened  up ; 
when  he  seemed  sad,  they  felt  depressed ;  and 
I  never  heard  of  any  one  daring  to  contradict 
him. 

"But,  of  course,  Romdn  had  grown  up  in  the 
woods,  and  had  no  fine  manners,  and  the  master 
made  allowance  for  that.  'I  want  you  to 
marry,'  he  said ;  '  and  as  to  the  reason,  that  is 
my  business.     You  must  marry  Oxanna.' 

"  '  I  don't  want  her,'  replied  Romdn ;  '  I  will 
not  have  even  Oxanna !  Let  the  devil  marry 
her !  I  will  not !  •  .  . '  That's  the  way  he 
talked. 

"The  master  ordered  them  to  bring  the 
knout.  They  stretched  Romdn  out,  and  then 
the  master  asked  him  once  more :  — 

" '  Will  you  marry,  Romdn  ?  ' 

" '  No,  I  will  not,'  he  said. 

"'Let  him  have  it,  then,'  says  the  master; 
'as  many  lashes  as  he  can  stand.' 

"So  they  gave  it  to  him;  and  although 
Romdn  was  a  robust  fellow,  soon  he  had 
enough. 


32  THE  FOBEST  SOUGHS. 

" '  That  will  do,'  he  said  at  last,  '  that  will 
do  !  May  all  the  devils  take  her  before  I  will 
suffer  so  for  a  woman.  Bring  her  here,  and  I 
will  marry  her  ! ' 

"A  huntsman,  Opands  Shyidld  by  name,  was 
then  living  at  the  master's  house.  He  had  just 
returned  from  the  fields  at  the  time  when  they 
were  persuading  Roradn  to  marry.  When  he 
was  told  about  Roman's  trials,  he  dropped  on 
his  knees  before  the  master,  embracing  his 
feet.  .  .  . 

"'If  you  will  allow  me,  gracious  master,  I 
will  gladly  marry  Oxanna,  and  you  need  no 
longer  punish  this  man.'  That's  the  way  it 
was ;  he  was  willing  to  marry  Oxanna.  .  .  . 
That's  the  kind  of  a  man  he  w^as ! 

"  So  Romdn  cheered  up ;  and,  as  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  he  said :  '  That's  a  good  idea ;  only, 
why  couldn't  you  have  made  your  appearance 
sooner?  And  the  master,  T  must  say  ...  he 
is  always  hasty.  Instead  of  finding  out  who 
would  like  to  marry  Oxanna,  he  got  hold  of 
me,  and  I  had  to  be  the  scape-goat!  I  don't 
call  that  Christian-like.'  You  see,  sometimes, 
he  did  not  even  spare  the  master  himself.     He 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  33 

was  that  kind  of  a  man !  When  he  was  angry, 
it  was  better  for  everybody  to  keep  out  of  his 
way,  even  for  the  master  himself.  But  the 
master  was  a  'cute  one  !  He  had  something 
else  in  his  mind,  and  again  he  ordered  Romdn 
to  be  laid  upon  the  grass. 

"'I  wish  your  happiness,  you  fool,' he  said, 
'and  you  are  turning  up  your  nose  at  it.  Now 
you  live  alone,  like  a  bear  in  his  den,  and  it  is 
not  cheering  to  call  on  you.  Let  him  have  it, 
the  fool,  until  he  cries,  "  Enough."  And  you, 
Opanfc,  go  to  the  deuce  ;  — you  were  not  called 
to  dinner,'  he  said,  '  so  don't  sit  down  to  the 
table  uninvited !  You  see  how  Romdn  is  far- 
ing? you  had  better  look  out  lest  you  get 
the  same.' 

"  Now  Romdn  was  becoming  angry  in  good 
earnest.  He  was  whipped  soundly,  for  in  those 
times  the  servants  knew  how  to  peel  the  skin 
off  with  the  knout,  —  yet  there  he  lay  and 
would  not  cry,  'Enough.'  He  bore  it  for  a 
long  time ;  finally,  when  he  could  endure  it  no 
longer :  — 

"  'Enough!'  he  cried,  —  'her  father  shall  not 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  a  Christian 


34  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

was  thus  whipped  for  a  womairs  sake  !  They 
don't  even  count  the  blows  !  May  your  hands 
dry  up,  you  rascally  serfs !  The  devil  must 
have  taught  you  this  business !  But  I  am  not 
a  sheep,  to  be  thus  flayed  !  If  that  is  the  way 
I  am  to  be  treated,  I  will  marry  her  to  spite 
all!'  .  .  . 

"  The  master  laughed.  .  .  . 

" '  That's  all  right !  Now,  although  you  will 
be  unable  to  sit  at  the  wedding,  you  can  dance 
all  the  more  ! ' 

"  He  was  a  jolly  man,  our  master.  But  after- 
wards a  mischance  befell  him,  that  I  would  not 
wish  for  any  Christian.  That's  a  fact !  —  I 
would  not  wish  it  even  for  a  Jew ! 

"So  Roman  was  married.  He  brought  his 
young  wife  to  his  hut,  and  at  first  did  nothing 
but  scold  and  upbraid  her  for  the  whij)ping  he 
had  received. 

" '  You  are  not  worthy  that  a  man  should  be 
thus  tormented  for  your  sake,'  he  said. 

"As  soon  as  he  returned  from  the  woods,  he 
would  drive  her  out  of  the  hut,  saying :  — 

"  '  Get  out !  I  don't  want  any  woman  in  my 
hut !     And  never  let  me  see  you  again.     I  do 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  85 

not  like  to  have  a  woman  sleeping  in  my  hut. 
It  poisons  the  air ! ' 

"  But  after  a  while  lie  became  reconciled,  for 
Oxanna  cleaned  the  hut,  put  things  in  order, 
polished  the  kitchen  utensils,  and  gave  a  cheer- 
ful air  to  everything.  And  Romdn  saw  that 
she  was  an  industrious  woman,  and  by  degrees 
he  grew  used  to  her  presence.  And  not  only 
did  he  become  used  to  her,  but  he  loved  her,  — 
that  is  the  truth  of  the  matter.  And  when  this 
came  to  pass,  he  said  :  '  Thanks  to  the.  master 
for  having  taught  me  where  my  happiness  lay. 
I  was  not  a  wise  man,  to  take  so  many  lashes, 
for  now  I  see  that  marrying  is  not  bad ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  a  good  thing  ! ' 

"  One  evening,  some  time  after  this,  I  cannot 
tell  exactly  how  long,  Oxanna  was  taken  ill, 
and  when  I  woke  up  the  next  morning,  I  heard 
some  one  squealing. 

" '  Eh^ ! '  I  thought  to  myself,  '  it  must  be  that 
a  child  is  born';  and  so  it  was. 

"  But  it  did  not  live  long,  —  only  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  when  it  stopped  squealing. 
Oxanna  cried,  and  Romdn  said :  '  Now  that 
the  child  is  dead,  there  is  no  longer  any  need 


36  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS, 

to  call  the  priest.  We  will  bury  it  under  a 
pine-tree.' 

"  So  saying,  he  dug  the  grave  and  buried  the 
child.  Yonder,  where  the  old  stump  stands 
that  was  struck  by  lightning  .  .  .  that  is  the 
identical  pine  under  which  Romdn  buried  the 
child.  And  what  is  more,  I  will  tell  you,  my 
lad,  sometimes  after  sunset,  and  when  the^stars 
are  shining,  a  little  bird  flies  overhead  and 
cries,  —  so  pitifully  it  cries,  it  grieves  one  to 
the  heart.  That  is  the  unbaptized  soul  begging 
for  baptism.  If  a  man  were  clever  enough  and 
had  book- wisdom,  he,  they  say,  could  conse- 
crate it,  and  it  would  fly  no  more.  .  .  .  But  we 
here  in  the  woods,  we  know  nothing.  It  flies 
and  beseeches,  and  we  only  say,  'We  cannot  help 
thee,  poor  soul.'  So  it  keeps  on  crying,  some- 
times flying  away  and  returning  again.  I  pity 
the  poor  soul,  my  lad. 

"  After  Oxanna  had  recovered,  she  went  often 
to  the  grave,  and  would  sit  and  cry  so  loud  that 
one  could  hear  her  in  the  woods.  She  was 
mourning  for  her  child  ;  but  Romdn  was  not 
sorry  for  the  child, —  he  pitied  Oxanna.  When 
he  came  from  the  woods,  he  would  stand  beside 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS,  37 

her  and  say  :  '  Keep  quiet,  you  foolish  woman  ! 
As  if  you  had  any  cause  for  crying  !  If  this 
child  is  dead,  we  may  have  another,  for  this  one 
may  not  have  been  mine!  —  how  can  I  tell?' 
Oxanna  did  not  like  to  hear  him  speak  thus. 
She  stopped  crying  and  began  to  scold  him  ; 
but  Roman  was  never  angry  with  her. 

" '  And  why  do  you  scold  me  ?  '  he  would  say  ; 
*I  have  not  accused  you.  I  only  said  I  did 
not  know.  It  is  true  I  do  not  know,  for  you 
were  not  always  mine,  and  did  not  live  in  the 
woods,  but  in  the  world,  among  people.  How 
am  I  to  know?  Now  you  are  living  in  the 
woods,  and  that's  well.  But  you  had  better 
^top  crying,  or  else  I  shall  get  angry,  and  may 
give  you  a  beating.' 

'^  Then  Oxanna  would  stop.  For,  although 
she  sometimes  scolded  him,  and  even  struck 
him  on  his  back,  yet,  when  Roman  himself 
began  to  get  angry,  she  subsided.  .  .  .  For  she 
was  afraid  of  him.  She  would  caress  and  kiss 
him  and  gaze  into  his  eyes.  .  .  .  And  thus  she 
pacified  him.  Because,  don't  you  know,  my 
lad  .  .  .  perhaps  you  don't  know,  but  I,  who 
am  an  old  man  and  was  never  married,  I  have 


38  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

seen  much  in  my  life,  and  I  can  tell  you  a 
young  woman's  kiss  is  very  sweet,  and  she  can 
get  the  better  of  any  man,  no  matter  how  cross 
he  may  be.  I  know  what  these  women  are. 
And  Oxanna  was  a  fine-looking  woman ;  I 
don't  see  any  like  her  in  these  days.  No,  my 
lad,  the  women  are  not  what  they  used  to  be  in 
my  time. 

"One  day  the  horn  sounded  through  the 
woods,  ra-ta-ta-ta-ta  ...  it  rang  cheerful  and 
clear.  I  was  then  only  a  small  boy,  and  did 
not  know  what  it  was.  I  saw  the  birds  rise, 
flapping  their  wings  and  screaming  as  they 
flew,  and  a  rabbit  here  and  there,  with  ears 
laid  back,  running  with  all  his  might.  Where 
upon  I  thought,  '  It  may  be  some  unknown 
animal  that  makes  this  strange  sound.'  It 
proved,  however,  to  be  no  animal,  but  the  mas- 
ter himself,  on  horseback,  riding  through  the 
woods,  blowing  the  horn ;  and  following  him 
rode  his  huntsmen,  leading  the  dogs  in  leash. 
And  the  handsomest  of  all  was  Opands  Shvidki, 
who  rode  close  to  the  master,  in  a  blue  coat, 
and  a  hat  with  a  gilt  crown  ;  his  steed  pranced 
and  capered,  his  rifle  shone,  and  he  wore  a  ban- 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  39 

dura  *  slung  across  his  shoulder.  The  master 
liked  Opanas  because  he  could  play  and  sing 
well.  And  a  fine-looking  man  he  was  indeed. 
The  master  made  but  a  poor  figure  by  his  side, 
for  he  was  growing  bald  and  had  a  red  nose ; 
and  though  his  eyes  were  still  bright,  they 
were  not  to  be  compared  to  those  of  Opanas. 
When  Opands  glanced  at  me,  small  lad  as  I 
was,  I  smiled  with  delight,  and  I  was  not  a 
woman.  It  was  rumored  that  his  ancestors 
were  Zaporog  Cossacks,  who  had  been  great 
warriors,  and  were  always  renowned  for  their 
beauty  and  vigor. 

''And  you  may  imagine  flying  like  a  bird 
on  horseback,  armed  with  a  spear,  is  quite  a 
different  matter  from  felling  trees  with  an  axe! 
...  As  I  ran  out,  behold!  our  master,  with 
his  huntsmen,  rode  up,  and  stopped  in  front  of 
the  hut.  Roman  came  out,  and,  bowing,  held 
the  stirrup  for  him  to  dismount. 

"  'How  do  you  do,  Romdn?  '  said  the  master. 

" '  I  am  very  well,  thank  you ;  what  should 
ail  me  ?     And  how  are  you  ? ' 

"  You  see,  Romdn  did  not  even  know  how  to 
*  A  musical  instrument  resembling  a  lute.  —  Tk. 


40  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

answer  respectfully.  His  reply  made  them  all 
laugh ;  even  the  master  himself  could  not  help 
smiling. 

" '  Thank  Heaven  that  you  are  well,'  he  re- 
joined.    '  And  where  is  your  wife  ?  ' 

"  '  Where  should  she  be  but  in  the  hut,  to 
be  sure  .  .  .  ? ' 

" '  Then,  we  will  go  in  there,  also,'  said  the 
master;  'and  you  boys,  meanwhile,  spread  a 
rug  on  the  grass,  and  prepare  things  for  us 
wherewith  to  congratulate  the  ne^ly  married 
couple.' 

"  So  they  entered  the  hut,  the  master  and 
Roman,  followed  by  Opanas,  with  his  hat  off, 
and  Bogddn,  an  old  hunter  and  faithful  ser- 
vant. And  here  I  will  say  that  such  ser- 
vants are  no  longer  to  be  found.  He  was  an 
old  man,  very  strict  with  the  other  servants, 
and  as  faithful  to  the  master  as  that  dog. 
Bogdan  had  no  relations  whatever.  It  was 
said  that  when  his  father  and  mother  died  he 
wanted  to  become  a  laboring  peasant,  and  to 
marry.  But  the  old  master  would  not  give  his 
consent.  He  placed  him  in  charge  of  his  young 
son :    '  There  is  your  father,  your  mother,  and 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS,  41 

your  wife,'  he  said ;  and  so  Bogddn  began  his 
life's  work,  taught  the  boy  to  ride  a  horse  and  to 
handle  a  musket.  And  when  the  lad  grew  up, 
and  became  master  himself,  old  Bogdan  still 
followed  him  about  like  a  dog.  If  truth  must 
be  told,  Bogdan  was  often  cursed ;  many  a  tear 
had  been  shed  for  which  he  was  responsible, 
and  all  on  account  of  the  master.  For  he  was 
capable  of  destroying  his  own  father  at  a  word 
from  his  master. 

"And  I  too,  small  lad  as  I  was,  followed 
them  into  the  hut.  Of  course,  I  was  curious; 
and  wherever  the  master  went  I  followed  him. 
I  found  him  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  stroking  his  moustache ;  and  Roman  was 
there  too. 

"  And  as  he  stood  there,  smiling  and  strok-' 
ing  his  moustache,  Romdn,  also,  stood  fumbling 
with  his  cap  and  shuffling  his  feet,  while  poor 
Opanas  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  looking 
as  gloomy  as  a-  young  oak  in  a  tempest.  All 
three  were  gazing  at  Oxanna.  Old  Bogdan, 
alone,  was  seated  in  the  corner,  on  a  bench, 
with  bowed  head,  waiting  for  the  master's  next 
order,  while  Oxanna  stood  in  the  corner,  with 


42  '       THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

downcast  eyes,  looking  as  flushed  as  yonder 
poppy  in  the  oats.  She  could  not  help  feeling 
that  some  harm  would  come  to  pass,  and  on  her 
account.  And  mark  my  words,  lad,  whenever 
three  men  are  in  love  with  the  same  woman, 
mischief  will  surely  be  the  outcome.  I  know 
it  is  so,  for  I  have  seen  it  many  a  time. 

" '  Well,  Roman,'  cried  tlie  master,  in  a  jok- 
ing way,  '  haven't  I  given  you  a  nice  wife  ? ' 

"'  Well,'  replied  Roman,  'a  woman,  like  any 
other.  She'll  do.'  Opanas  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and,  glancing  at  Oxanna,  said,  in  an 
undertone  :  — 

" '  A  woman,  indeed !  She  might  have 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  wiser  man.' 

"  Roman,  overhearing  these  words,  turned 
to  Opands,  and  said:  — 

" '  What  is  it  that  makes  you  think  me  un- 
wise, master  Opanas?' 

" '  Because  you  do  not  know  how  to  protect 
your  wife ;  that's  why  you  are  unwise.' 

"  And  that  was  Opands'  reply.  Whereupon 
the  master  stamped  his  foot,  and  Bogddn  shook 
his  head.  Romdn,  having  reflected  awhile, 
looked  up  at  the  master,  and  as  he  did  so  he 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  43 

said  to  Opanas,  without,  however,  removing 
his  eyes  from  the  former :  — 

"  '  Against  what  am  I  to  protect  her  ?  We 
see  no  one  here  but  wild  beasts,  unless  it  may 
be  that  the  gracious  master  looks  in  upon  us 
occasionally.  Who  is  there  to  guard  against? 
You  had  better  not  irritate  me,  you  unfriendly 
Cossack ;  if  you  do,  I  shall  quarrel  with  you.' 

"  And  he  might  have  carried  out  his  threat 
had  not  the  master  interfered.  He  stamped  his 
foot,  and  both  subsided. 

" '  Keep  quiet !  We  have  not  come  here  to 
witness  a  brawl !  We  must  congratulate  the 
newly  married  couple,  and  then,  towards  night, 
we  will  start  on  our  hunt.  Follow  me  ! '  and, 
turning,  he  left  the  hut. 

"  Meanwhile  the  hunters  had  spread  a  lunch 
under  the  trees.  Bogdan  followed  his  master, 
but  in  the  entry  Opanas  held  Romdn,  and  said 
to  him :  — 

" '  Bear  me  no  ill-will,  my  dear  fellow,  but 
think  seriously  of  what  Opanas  tells  you.  It 
is  true  you  saw  me  on  my  knees  before  him, 
kissing  his  boots,  and  begging  him  to  let  Ox- 
anna  marry  me ;  but  peace  be  with  you,  man. 


44  TUE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

.  .  .  You  were  married  to  her,  and  such  is  fate ! 
Yet  I  cannot  remain  passive,  and  see  the  evil 
one  insult  you  both.  Ah,  no  one  knows  how  I 
feel!  ...  I  had  better  send  him  to  mother 
earth  with  my  rifle  ! ' 

"  Roman  looked  at  the  Cossack,  and  said,  — 

"  *  Are  you  sane  ? ' 

"  I  could  not  hear  what  reply  Opanas  made  ; 
I  only  heard  Roman  slap  him  on  the  shoulder, 
exclaiming :  — 

"  'Ah,  Opanas,  what  wicked,  cunning  people 
there  are  in  this  world  !  And,  living  in  the 
forest  as  I  do,  I  knew  nothing  about  them. 
Well,  master,  matters  may  go  ill  with  you ! ' 

" '  Go  your  way  now,  and,  above  all,  don't 
let  Bogddn  get  wind  of  anything.  He  is  a  sly 
dog,  and  you  are  far  from  shrewd.  Beware  of 
drinking  much  of  the  master's  liquor ;  and,  if 
he  sends  you  with  the  hunters  into  the  swamps, 
and  orders  you  to  remain  there,  lead  them  to 
the  old  oak  and  show  them  the  road  that 
skirts  the  swamp,  telling  them,  meanwhile, 
that  you  will  take  the  short  cut  tlirough  the 
woods.  .  .  .  Then  return  here  as  quickly  as 
you  can.' 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  45 

"'All  right,'  replied  Romdii ;  'I  will  make 
ready  for  the  hunt,  and  I  will  load  my  gun, 
not  with  grape-shot,  but  with  a  good-sized 
bullet,  as  if  I  were  going  on  a  bear-hunt.  .  .  / 

"  Thus  they  parted.  Meanwhile,  the  master, 
seating  himself  on  a  rug,  ordered  a  flask  and 
a  cup  to  be  brought  to  him,  and,  having  poured 
some  liquor  into  the  cup,  he  offered  it  to 
Romdn.  The  master's  flask  and  cup  were 
fine,  but  his  liquor  was  still  finer.  The  first 
cup  made  you  feel  comfortable,  at  the  second 
your  heart  began  to  throb,  and,  if  a  man 
chanced  to  be  unused  to  liquor,  after  the  third 
he  might  be  found  under  the  settle,  unless  his 
wife  took  care  to  help  him  on  to  it. 

"  The  master  was  a  cunning  fellow,  I  can 
tell  you.  He  wanted  to  fill  Romdn  with  liquor 
and  intoxicate  him,  but  no  liquor  was  ever 
made  that  could  get  the  better  of  Romdn.  He 
drank  the  three  cups  to  which  the  master 
treated  him,  one  after  the  other,  but  his  eyes 
merely  sparkled,  like  those  of  a  wolf,  and  his 
black  whiskers  twitched.  At  last  the  master 
grew  provoked  with  him. 

" '  See  the  amount  of  liquor  this  rascal  can 


46  THE  FOBEST  SOUGHS, 

swallow  and  not  show  it  in  the  least.  Another 
one  in  his  place  would  have  been  shedding 
tears  long  ago,  and  just  look  at  him,  my  good 
people  !  —  he  only  smiles ! ' 

"  For  the  master,  fiend  that  he  was,  knew 
very  well  that  when  a  man  begins  to  weep  from 
the  effects  of  liquor,  he  will  shortly  collapse  en- 
tirely.    But  he  had  the  wrong  man  this  time. 

"  '  And  why  should  I  shed  tears  ? '  replied 
Romd.n.  *  That  would  be  quite  unsuitable, 
for  has  not  the  gracious  master  come  to  con- 
gratulate me  ?  And  why  should  I  cry  like  a 
woman  ?  Thank  Heaven,  I  have  no  reason  to 
cry.     Leave  that  to  my  enemies.  .  .  .' 

"  '  Then,  you  are  pleased  ? '  asked  the  master. 

"  '  And  why  should  I  be  displeased  ?  ' 

"  *  Have  you  forgotten  that  we  celebrated 
your  betrothal  by  whipping  you  ?  ' 

" '  Certainly  not.  That's  why  I  say  that  I 
was  not  a  wise  man,  nor  did  I  know  the  differ- 
ence between  bitter  and  sweet.  Bitter  the 
lash,  but  I  preferred  it  to  a  woman.  But  now 
I  am  grateful  to  you,  gracious  master,  that  you 
gave  me,  simpleton  that  I  was,  a  taste  for 
honey.' 


THE  FOBEST  SOUGHS.  47 

"'You  are  most  welcome,'  said  the  master, 
'and  now  it  is  your  turn  to  do  me  a  favor; 
when  you  go  with  the  hunters  into  the  field, 
shoot  as  many  birds  as  you  can,  and  be  sure 
and  get  me  a  woodcock.' 

"  '  And  when  is  the  master  going  to  send  us 
into  the  swamp  ? '  asked  Romdn. 

" '  We  will  start  just  as  soon  as  we  have 
taken  another  drink  and  Opands  has  given  us 
a  song.' 

"  Romdn  looked  up  at  the  sky  and  said :  — 

"  '  That  will  be  rather  a  difficult  matter,  for 
it  is  growing  late  and  the  swamp  is  far  away ;  — 
besides,  the  wind  is  rising,  and  forbodes  a  storm 
during  the  night.  As  to  the  woodcock,  how 
can  such  a  shy  bird  be  killed  ?  ' 

"  But  the  master  was  already  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  liquor,  and  in  that  condition  he 
was  apt  to  be  cross.  His  men  were  whispering 
among  themselves,  and  when  he  overheard 
them  say,  '  Romdn  is  right,  a  storm  is  brew- 
ing,' he  grew  angry.  With  flashing  eyes,  he 
set  his  cup  down  with  a  crash,  and  all  became 
silent. 

''  Opands  alone  was  not  frightened.     At  the 


48  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

word  of  command  he  stepped  forward,  pre- 
pared to  accompany  his  song  on  a  bandura, 
and,  while  tuning  it,  he  looked  askance  at  the 
master,  saying :  — 

"  '  You  had  better  change  your  mind,  gra- 
cious master !  Who  ever  heard  of  sending 
people  out  in  the  night,  when  a  storm  was 
coming  on,  to  hunt  birds  in  the  woods.' 

"  Opands  was  a  bold  man.  The  others,  being 
serfs,  were  afraid  of  the  master ;  but  he  was  a 
free  man,  a  Gossack  by  birth.  An  old  bandura 
player  from  the  Ukraina,  himself  a  Cossack, 
had  brought  him  here.  There  had  been  a 
revolt,  and  the  old  man,  having  had  his  eyes 
put  out  and  his  ears  chopped,  was  allowed  to 
escape,  and,  wandering  through  cities  and  vil- 
lages, finally  came  our  way  with  Opands,  who 
was  then  a  lad  and  was  travelling  with  him. 
The  old  master,  fond  of  good  singing,  took 
him  into  his  house,  and,  after  his  death,  Opanas 
continued  to  live  there  until  he  grew  to  be  a 
man.  The  young  master  was  also  fond  of  him, 
and  bore  from  him  many  a  speech  that  would 
have  cost  another  man  his  life. 

"  '  Ah  !  you  are  a  clever  fellow,  Opands,  but 


TUE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  49 

you  seem  not  to  know  that  when  a  man  puts 
his  nose  into  the  crack  of  a  door  it  runs  the 
risk  of  being  hurt.' 

"  Tliat's  the  conundrum  he  gave  to  Opanas. 
But  the  Cossack  guessed  it  at  once,  and  an- 
swered the  master  with  a  song,  which,  had  it 
been  as  readily  understood,  would  have  spared 
his  lady  many  a  tear. 

"'Thank  you,  master,  for  the  information,' 
replied  Opanas,  '  and  now  I  will  sing  you  a 
song.     Hearken ! ' 

"And  he  struck  his  bandura. 

"Lifting  his  head,  he  glanced  at  the  sky,  where 
the  eagle  soars  and  the  wind  drives  the  clouds; 
straining  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  listen  to  the 
rustle  of  the  tall  pines.  .  .  . 

"And  then  once  more  he  struck  his  bandura. 

"  It  is  a  pity,  my  lad,  that  you  never  heard 
Opaiids  Shvidki  play  !  Now  he  is  no  longer  to 
be  heard !  What  a  simple  thing  a  bandura  is, 
to  be  sure,  and  yet  how  well  it  can  talk  when 
touched  by  a  skilful  player.  He  used  to  strike 
a  few  chords,  and  they  seemed  to  tell  him  many 
things :  how  the  dark  forest  groans  at  night ; 
how  the  wind  whistles  on  the  steppes,  through 


50  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

the  tall  grass;  and  how  a  withered  blade  of 
grass  whispers  over  a  Cossack  grave. 

"  No,  my  lad,  you  will  never  hear  genuine 
playing !  There  are  plenty  of  wandering  musi- 
cians, and  some  among  them  have  visited  other 
countries  beside  Russia,  and  have  travelled 
throughout  the  Ukraina ;  and  also  in  Tchighirin, 
Poltava,  Kiev,  and  Tcherkassy.  They  say  that 
bandura-players  are  growing  scarce  ;  that  they 
are  no  longer  to  be  found  at  fairs.  I  have  an 
old  bandura  hanging  up  on  the  wall  in  the  hut. 
Opanas  taught  me  to  play  on  it,  but  there  is  no 
one  to  play  it  after  me ;  and  when  I  die,  and 
that  may  be  soon,  perhaps  nowhere  in  the  wide 
world  will  one  be  found  to  play  the  bandura. 
That's  the  way  things  are  I  Opanas  had  a  rich, 
melancholy  voice,  whose  soft  tones  touched  the 
heart.  And  as  for  the  song,  my  lad,  he  must  have 
composed  it  for  this  special  occasion  ;  for  when, 
in  after  years,  I  used  to  tease  him  to  sing  it,  he 
always  refused  .  .  .  and  I  never  heard  it  again. 

"  '  The  man  for  whom  I  sang  that  song  is  no 
longer  living,'  he  would  say. 

"  In  the  song  he  prophesied,  as  it  were,  telling 
the  master  what  was  to  befall  him  ;  who,  though 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS,  61 

the  tears  trickled  down  his  moustache,  seemed 
not  to  understand  his  meaning.  I  am  sorry  I 
can  only  remember  a  few  lines  of  it.  The  Cos- 
sack sang  about  one  master  Ivan :  — 

**  *  Beware,  O  master  Ivan! 
Wise  art  thou,  master,  and  great  is  thy  wisdom ! 
Thou  knowest  that  the  vultiu*e  sails  through  the  sky  and 
triumphs  over  the  raven. 

"  *  Beware,  O  master  Ivan! 
Thou  takest  no  heed  that  often  it  chances 
In  this  world 

That  the  raven  who  defends  the  nest  may  triumph  over 
the  vulture.  .  .  .  ' 

"  I  seem  still  to  hear  that  song  and  to  see  the 
people :  the  Cossack  with  his  bandura ;  the 
master  seated  on  the  rug,  his  head  bowed  down, 
sobbing,  —  the  servants  around  him,  making 
signs  to  one  another ;  and  old  Bogdan  shaking 
his  head  .  .  .  and  the  forest  soughing  as  it  does 
now ;  gently  and  sadly  sounded  the  bandura  as 
the  Cossack  sang  of  the  Lady  mourning  over 
her  Lord,  master  Ivan. 

"  *  The  Lady  weeps, 

While  the  black  raven  is  croaking  over  master  Ivan.' 

"But  the  master  saw  no  meaning  for  himself 
in  the  song  ;  wiping  his  eyes,  he  exclaimed :  — 


52  THE  FOREST  SOVGIIS. 

"  '  Now,  get  ready,  Romdn  !  Mount  your 
horses,  boys  !  And  you,  Opands,  go  with  them ; 
I  have  had  enough  of  your  songs  !  ...  It  was 
a  good  one,  only  the  things  which  happen  in 
your  songs  don't  come  to  pass  in  this 
world.  .  .  .  ' 

"  But  the  Cossack's  heart  had  grown  pitiful, 
and  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"'Ah,  master,'  said  Opanas,  'I  have  heard 
old  people  say :  there  is  truth  both  in  song-  and 
tale.  Only  in  the  tale,  truth  is  like  unto  iron  : 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  until  it  has  grown 
rusty.  .  .  .  Whereas  in  the  song  it  is  like  gold, 
which  rust  cannot  corrode.  .  .  .  That's  what  I 
have  heard  old  people  say  I ' 

"  The  master  waved  his  hand. 

"  '  That  may  be  true  in  your  country  ;  with  us 
it  is  different.  .  .  .  Go,  Opanas;  I  have  had 
enough  of  you.' 

'"  The  Cossack,  pausing,  suddenly  fell  on  his 
knees  at  the  master's  feet. 

"  '  Listen  to  me,  master,  I  entreat  you.  Ride 
straightway  home  to  your  lady  !  My  heart  for- 
bodes  evil ! ' 

"Then    the    master    grew    angry    in    good 


TEE  FOBEST  SOUGHS.  53 

earnest,  and,  kicking  Opands,  as  though  he  were 
a  dog : — 

"  '  Leave  me,'  he  cried ;  'you  are  more  like  a 
woman  than  a  Cossack !  Take  yourself  off  out 
of  my  sight,  else  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you ! 
And  what  are  you  gaping  at,  you  tribe  of  Ham  ? 
Am  I  no  longer  your  master  ?  I  will  teach  you 
better  manners,  after  a  fashion  such  as  my 
fathers  never  used  with  yours.  .  .  .' 

"  Opands  rose  to  his  feet,  looking  like  a  dark 
cloud  ;  and  he  and  Romdn  glanced  at  each 
other  significantly.  The  latter  was  standing 
aloof,  leaning  on  his  rifle,  apparently  quite  un- 
concerned. 

"  Then  the  Cossack  hurled  his  bandura  against 
a  tree  ;  it  flew  in  pieces,  while  a  moaning  sound 
issued  from  it,  echoing  through  the  forest. 

" '  Let  the  devil  teach  such  a  man  in  the  next 
world,  since  he  will  not  listen  to  wisdom.  .  .  . 
It  seems  you  no  longer  need  a  faithful  servant.' 

"  Giving  the  master  no  time  to  reply,  Opands 
threw  himself  into  liis  saddle  and  rode  away. 
The  hunters  mounted ;  and  Romdn,  shouldering 
his  rifle,  also  started  along.  As  he  passed  the 
hut,  he  called  out  to  Oxanna  :  — 


54  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

" '  Put  the  boy  to  bed,  Oxanna  !  It  is  time 
he  were  sleeping ;  and  prepare  a  bed  for  the 
master  too.' 

"Soon  after,  they  all  left,  taking  yonder 
road ;  the  master  went  into  the  hut,  and  his 
horse  alone  remained  fastened  to  a  tree.  It 
was  growing  dark,  the  forest  was  soughing,  and 
it  had  begun  to  rain,  just  as  it  does  now.  .  .  . 
Oxanna  put  me  to  bed  in  the  hay-loft,  and  as 
she  blessed  me  I  could  hear  her  crying. 

"Well,  I  was  a  small  chap  then,  and  did  not 
understand  what  was  going  on  around  me.  I 
curled  up  on  the  hay,  listening  to  the  moaning 
of  the  storm  in  the  woods,  and  was  just  on  the 
point  of  dropping  off  to  sleep  when,  ekh ! 
suddenly  I  heard  footsteps  near  the  hut.  .  .  . 
Some  one  came  up  to  the  tree  and  unfastened 
the  master's  horse.  I  heard  him  snort  as  he 
made  for  the  woods,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
clatter  of  his  hoofs  died  away  in  the  distance. 
.  .  .  Then  I  heard  some  one  come  galloping 
along  the  road,  and  ride  up  to  the  hut.  Reach- 
ing it,  he  dismounted  and  ran  up  close  to  the 
window. 

"  '  Master !    master  ! '    called    out   Bogdan's 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  65 

voice,  '  open  the  door  quickly !  The  fiendish 
Cossack  has  plotted  against  you.  He  has  let 
your  horse  loose  in  the  woods  ! ' 

"Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  the  old 
man's  mouth  when  somebody  seized  him  from 
behind.  I  was  scared  when  I  heard  the  sound 
of  one  falling.  .  .  . 

"When  the  master  opened  the  door,  and 
rushed  out  with  his  rifle,  Romdn  seized  him  in 
the  vestibule,  and  threw  him  on  the  ground. 
.  .  .  Realizing  his  danger,  he  cried  :  — 

" '  Let  me  go,  Roman  !  Is  that  the  way  you 
remember  my  kindness  ?  ' 

"  And  Romdn  replied  :  — 

" '  I  do  remember  your  kindness,  fiend 
that  you  are,  both  toward  myself  and  my 
wife,  and  you  are  going  to  get  your  pay  for 
it  now !  .  .  .' 

"And  I  heard  the  master's  voice  saying  :  — 

"'Defend  me,  Opands,  my  faithful  servant. 
Haven't  I  loved  you  like  my  own  son  ?  .  .  .' 

"And  Opanas  replying:  — 

"'You  spurned  your  faithful  servant  as  you 
would  a  dog.  You  loved  me  with  the  love  a 
stick   feels   for   the   back,  and   now  you   love 


56  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS, 

me  as  tlie  back  loves  the  stick.  ...  I  have 
implored  and  entreated  you,  but  you  would 
not  listen  to  me.  .  .  .' 

"  Then  the  master  turned  to  Oxanna. 

" '  Intercede  for  me,  Oxanna ;  you  have  a 
kind  heart.' 

"Oxanna  ran  out  of  the  hut,  throwing  up 
her  hands  as  she  cried :  — 

" '  I  entreated  you  on  my  knees  to  have  pity 
on  my  innocence,  and  not  disgrace  me  as  a 
wife,  and  you  refused ;  now  you  ask  me  .  .  . 
I  am  a  poor,  unhappy  woman  ;  what  can  I  do ! ' 

"  'Let  me  go,'  cried  the  master;  'you  will  all 
be  sent  to  Siberia  for  this  business  !  .  .  .' 

"'Don't  trouble  yourself  on  our  account, 
master,'  replied  Opands ;  '  Roman  will  be  in 
the  swamp  before  your  men  get  there,  and  as 
for  myself,  I  am  alone  in  this  world,  thanks  to 
you,  and  I  do  not  care  what  becomes  of  me.  I 
shall  shoulder  my  rifle  and  take  to  the  woods. 
...  I  shall  gather  a  band  of  active  followers, 
and  we  will  enjoy  life.  .  .  .  Sometimes  we  may 
leave  the  forest  and  appear  on  the  highway  by 
night,  and  whenever  we  come  to  a  village  we 
shall   always   aim   for    the    owner's    mansion. 


THE  FOREST  SOUGHS.  67 

Here,  Romdii,  lend  a  hand,  and  let  us  carry 
our  gracious  master  out  into  the  rain.' 

"In  vain  the  master  struggled  and  cried 
aloud  ;  Romdn  only  muttered,  while  the  Cos- 
sack jeered  at  him.  And  thus  they  left  the 
hut. 

"I  was  much  frightened,  and  ran  back  to 
Oxanna.  I  found  her,  as  white  as  a  sheet, 
sitting  on  the  bench.  .  .  . 

"Meanwhile,  the  storm  had  burst  forth  in 
the  woods  in  real  earnest.  The  uproar  was 
like  the  shouting  of  a  thousand  voices;  — the 
wind  howled,  the  thunder  crashed.  As  Oxanna 
and  I  sat  on  the  Li/ezhdnka*  we  suddenly 
heard  some  one  moan  in  the  forest.  And  such 
a  pitiful  sound  as  it  was  !  It  makes  my  heart 
heavy  whenever  I  think  of  it,  in  spite  of  the 
years  that  have  passed.  .  .  . 

" '  Oxanna,  darling,'  I  said,  '  who  is  it  moan- 
ing in  the  woods  ?  ' 

"  She  took  me  in  her  arms  and  rocked  me. 

" '  Go  to  sleep,  my  boy,  it  is  nothing.  .  .  . 
It  is  the  forest  soughing.  .  ,  .' 

"And,  truly,  the  forest  did  sough  ;  oh,  how 

*  The  low  part  of  the  stove,  built  out  to  lie  upon.  —  Tii. 


58  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

it  soughed !  Thus  we  sat  for  some  time,  when 
I  heard  the  report  of  a  shot. 

" '  Oxanna,  darling,'  I  said,  '  who  is  it 
shooting  ? ' 

"But  she,  poor  thing,  went  on  rocking  me, 
repeating :  — 

"'Keep  quiet,  my  boy!  ...  it  is  thundering 
in  the  woods.  .  .  .' 

"  She  was  crying,  as  she  hugged  and  rocked 
me  :  — 

" '  The  forest  soughs,  the  forest  soughs,  my 
boy....' 

"And  I  dropped  to  sleep  in  her  arms.  .  .  . 

"In  the  morning,  when  I  woke,  my  lad,  and 
saw  the  sun  shining,  and  Oxanna  sleeping  alone 
in  the  hut,  with  her  clothes  on,  I  recollected 
the  events  of  the  previous  day,  and  thought  it 
must  have  been  a  dream. 

"  It  had  been  no  dream,  however,  but  reality. 
I  ran  out  of  the  hut,  into  the  wood,  where  the 
birds  were  singing  and  the  dew  glittering  on 
the  leaves  ;  and  when  I  reached  the  bushes,  I 
saw  the  master  and  his  servant  lying  side  by 
side,  —  the  master  calm  and  pale,  and  the  gray- 
haired  servant  looking  as  stern  as  though  he 


THE  FOBEST  SOUGHS.  69 

were  alive.     Their  breasts  were   stained  with 
blood.  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  others  ?  "  I  asked, 
when  the  grandfather,  having  ceased  to  speak, 
sat  with  drooping  head. 

''  Eh^  !  Everything  happened  as  the  Cos- 
sack Opands  had  promised.  For  many  years 
he  lived  in  the  forest,  infesting  the  highways 
with  his  band.  That  was  his  destiny :  his 
ancestors  had  been  highwaymen,  and  it  came 
natural  to  him  to  follow  their  calling.  He 
often  came  to  ns,  into  this  very  hut,  but  for 
the  most  part  at  times  when  Romdn  was 
away.  He  would  come  and  sing  a  song  and 
play  on  the  bandura.  Sometimes  he  brought 
his  comrades  —  and  Oxanna  and  Romdn  al- 
ways welcomed  him.  I  must  admit,  my  lad, 
that  things  were  not  as  they  should  be. 
When  Maxim  and  Zakhdr  return  from  the 
woods,  take  a  look  at  them.  I  have  never 
given  them  a  hint,  but  whoever  knew  Roman 
and  Opands  could  see  at  once  which  of  the 
two  each  of  them  resembles,  although  they  are 
not  the  children,  but  only  grandchildren,  of 
those  men.  .  .  .  And  now  you  know  what  I 


60  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

have   seen   in  the    forest   in   my  lifetime,  my 
lad.  .  .  . 

"  Hark !    how   the   forest    soughs ;  .  .  .  the 
storm  is  drawing  nearer.  .  .  •" 


III. 

The  old  man's  voice  sounded  tired  as  he 
finished  his  story.  The  excitement  ended,  his 
fatigue  became  evident ;  his  speech  grew  indis- 
tinct, his  voice  shook,  and  his  eyes  watered. 

The  shades  of  night  had  enveloped  the  earth, 
and  the  forest  looked  dark.  The  trees  sur- 
rounding the  hut  swayed  to  and  fro,  heaving 
like  the  billows  of  an  angry  sea ;  their  dark 
summits  might  well  be  likened  to  the  waves 
in  a  storm.  The  joyful  bark  of  the  dog 
announced  the  return  of  his  masters.  The 
woodmen  hurriedly  drew  near,  closely  followed 
by  the  panting  M6trya,  who  had  found  the 
missing  cow.     Our  company  was  complete. 

Some  minutes  later  we  were  all  seated  in  the 
hut,  where  a  bright  fire  was  burning,  while 
M6trya  prepared  the  supper.  Although  I  had 
often  seen  Zakhdr  and  Maxim,  I  looked  at  them 


TUE  FOREST  SOUGUS.  61 

now  with  a  new  interest.  Zakhar's  skin  was 
dark ;  his  eyebrows  met  beneath  a  low  fore- 
head ;  his  eyes  looked  stern,  although  one  could 
discern  in  his  expression  a  certain  good-nature, 
the  not  uncommon  adjunct  of  great  strength. 
Maxim,  on  the  contrary,  showed  an  open  coun- 
tenance, with  caressing  gray  eyes.  He  had  a 
trick  of  shaking  his  curls,  and  the  sound  of  his 
laughter  was  irresistibly  contagious. 

"  I  suppose  the  old  man  has  been  telling  you 
his  favorite  story  about  our  grandfather,"  said 
Maxim. 

*'  Yes  ;  he  has,"  I  replied.   • 

"  That's  what  he  always  does  !  Whenever 
the  forest  soughs  louder  than  usual,  his  mind 
goes  back  to  the  past,  and  now,  I  suppose,  he 
will  lie  awake  all  night  long." 

"  He  is  just  like  a  child,"  remarked  Motrya, 
as  she  poured  some  shchi  *  for  the  grandfather. 

The  old  man  seemed  not  at  all  to  realize 
that  we  were  speaking  about  him.  He  had 
subsided  completely,  smiling  once  in  a  while, 
and  nodding.  Only,  when  a  gust  of  wind 
struck  the  hut,  he  grew  nervous,  with  the  air 
♦  Cabbage-broth.  —  Tr. 


62  THE  FOREST  SOUGHS, 

of  one  who,  being  startled,  listens  to  some 
distant  sound. 

Presently  all  became  still  in  the  hnt.  Only 
the  last  glimmer  of  the  tallow-light  shone 
feebly,  and  the  cricket  chirped  his  shrill, 
monotonous  song.  .  .  .  From  the  forest  came 
thousands  of  strong  but  muffled  voices,  calling 
to  each  other  in  the  gloom.  It  seemed  as 
though  invisible  powers  were  holding  a  stormy 
conclave  in  the  darkness,  combining  a  simul- 
taneous attack  upon  the  humble  dwelling. 
From  time  to  time,  the  indistinct  murmur, 
growing  louder,  sounded  close  at  hand  ;  then 
the  door  shook,  as  though  some  one  with  an 
angry  hissing  voice  were  forcing  it  from  out- 
side, and  the  wind  whistled  in  the  chimney 
with  a  mournful  wailing.  Sometimes  the 
storm-gusts  would  die  away,  followed  by  an 
oppressive  stillness  even  more  appalling  to  a 
timid  spirit,  and  then  again  the  tumult  would 
return,  and  the  old  pines  labored  and  groaned, 
as  though  striving  to  uproot  themselves  and 
fly  away  into  space  on  the  wings  of  the 
hurricane. 

For  a  few  brief  moments  I  had  lost  myself. 


THE  FOREST  SOUGUS.  63 

When  I  woke,  the  storm  was  still  howling  in 
the  forest,  in  various  keys.  A  flickering  light 
illumined  the  hut.  The  old  man  still  sat  on 
the  bench,  putting  out  his  hands  once  in  a 
while,  as  though  hoping  to  find  some  one  beside 
him.  An  expression  of  alarm  and  childish 
helplessness  was  visible  on  his  poor  old  face. 

"  Oxanna,  darling,  who  is  it  moaning  in  the 
woods  ?  "  —  I  could  distinguish  his  plaintive 
whisper. 

His  hands  groped  helplessly  around  as  he 
seemed  to  listen.  ''  Ekh ! "  he  murmured 
again,  "  no  one  is  moaning.  ...  It  is  only  the 
storm  raging,  .  .  .  that's  all.  .  .  .  The  forest 
is  soughing.  .  .  ." 

Several  minutes  went  by  in  silence.  Streaks 
of  bluish  lightning  flashed  in  at  the  small 
windows,  revealing  the  fantastic  outlines  of  the 
tall  trees  outside,  which  were  straightway  lost 
again  in  the  murky  gloom. 

Suddenly  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  light 
within  the  room  was  eclipsed  by  a  brighter 
flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a  crashing  peal 
of  thunder  that  echoed  through  the  woods. 
The  old  man  moved  uneasily  on  his  bench. 


64  TnE  FOREST  SOUGHS. 

"  Oxanna,  darling,  who  is  it  shooting  in  the 
woods  ?  " 

"  Go  to  sleep,  grandpa,"  said  Motiya's  quiet 
voice  from  the  Lyezhdnha,  "-  He  is  always  like 
that  in  a  storm  ;  it  makes  him  talk  about  Ox- 
anna.   He  forgets  that  she  died  long  ago.  .  .  ." 

M6trya  yawned,  whispered  a  prayer,  and 
stillness  once  more  resumed  its  reign,  inter- 
rupted only  by  the  soughing  forest  and  the 
feverish  mutterings  of  the  old  man. 

"  The  forest  soughs,  ...  it  soughs,  .  .  .  my 
darling  Oxanna,  my  dove.  .  .  ." 

Shortly  after,  a  heavy  shower  began,  drown- 
ing with  its  torrents  both  the  outbursts  of  the 
wind  and  the  groans  of  the  pine-forest.  .  .  . 


EASTER  NIGHT. 


It  was  Holy  Saturday  in  188-  ... 

Evening  had  long  since  enfolded  the  silent 
earth.  The  ground,  warmed  during  the  day 
by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  was  now  cooling  be- 
neath the  invigorating  influence  of  the  night- 
frost.  It  seemed  like  one  sighing,  while  its 
breath,  forming  a  silvery  mist,  rose  glistening 
in  the  rays  of  the  starlit  sky,  like  clouds  of 
incense,  to  greet  the  approaching  holiday. 

All  was  still.  In  the  cool  night-breeze  the 
small  provincial  town  of  N.  stood  silent,  wait- 
ing to  hear  the  first  stroke  of  the  bell  from  the 
high  cathedral-tower.  But  the  town  was  not 
sleeping;  a  spirit  af  expectancy  brooded  be- 
neath the  veil  of  darkness,  breathing  through 
the  shadows  of  the  silent  and  deserted  streets. 
Now  and  then  a  belated  workman,  who  had  but 
just  escaped  from  his  servile  task  ere  the  holi- 
day began,  passed,  hurrying  on  his  way ;  once 
05 


66  FASTER  NIGHT. 

in  a  while  a  drosky  rattled  by,  leaving  silence 
behind  it.  Life  had  fled  indoors  and  hidden 
itself,  in  palace  and  hovel,  from  whose  windows 
the  lights  shone  far  out  upon  the  street,  while 
over  the  city  and  the  fields  hovered  the  spirit 
of  Resurrection. 

Although  the  moon  stood  high  above  the 
horizon,  the  town  still  rested  in  the  broad,  deep 
shadow  of  a  hill,  crowned  by  a  gloomy  and 
massive  edifice,  whose  peculiarly  straight  and 
severe  outlines  were  sharply  defined  in  the 
golden  ether.  The  sombre  gates  were  hardly 
to  be  distinguished  amid  the  gloom  of  its 
deeply  shadowed  walls,  while  the  towers  on 
the  four  corners  stood  out  boldly  against  the 
azure  sky,  and  gradually  over  all  the  moon 
poured  its  flood  of  liquid  gold. 

Suddenly  on  the  sensitive  air  of  the  expect- 
ant night  came  the  first  stroke  from  the  high 
cathedral-belfry ;  then  another,  and  still  an- 
other. A  minute  later  and  the  whole  air 
throbbed  and  swelled,  as  the  countless  bells 
rang  out,  uniting  in  one  harmonious  peal. 
From  the  gloomy  building  overshadowing  the 
town  there  came  a  faint,  broken  harmony,  that 


EASTER  NIGHT.  67 

seemed  to  flutter  helplessly  in  the  air,  and 
thence  to  rise  into  the  ethereal  light,  and  join 
the  miglity  chord.  The  singing  ceased,  the 
sounds  dissolved  in  air,  and  the  silence  of  the 
night  gradually  resumed  its  sway ;  a  faint  echo 
seemed  to  hover  for  a  while,  like  the  vibration 
of  an  invisible  harp-string.  Now  the  fires  were 
gradually  extinguished,  the  church-windows 
shone  forth  brightly,  and  the  earth  seemed 
ready  to  proclaim  once  more  the  old  tidings  of 
peace,  love,  and  good-will. 

The  bolts  of  the  dark  gates  in  the  gloomy 
building  creaked,  and  a  band  of  soldiers,  with 
clanking  arms,  sallied  forth  to  relieve  the  night- 
sentinels;  on  approaching  the  corners,  they 
would  lialt,  and  a  dark  form,  with  measured 
steps,  would  detach  itself  from  the  rest,  while 
the  former  sentinel  took  his  place  in  the  ranks, 
and  the  soldiers  went  on  their  way,  skirting  the 
high  prison-wall,  that  glistened  in  the  moon- 
beams. 

As  they  reached  its  western  side,  a  young 
recruit  stepped  forward  from  the  ranks  to 
relieve  the  sentry  who  was  posted  there ;  a 
rustic  awkwardness  still  showed  itself   in  his 


68  EASTER  NIGHT. 

inovements,  and  his  young  face  betrayed  the 
absorbed  attention  of  a  novice  who  was  to 
occupy  for  the  first  time  a  responsible  post. 
He  faced  the  wall,  presented  arms,  made  two 
steps  forward,  and,  shouldering  his  musket, 
stood  beside  the  sentry  he  was  to  replace.  The 
latter,  turning  slightly  towards  him,  repeated 
the  usual  formula,  in  the  sing-song  tone  of  dis- 
cipline. 

"  From  corner  to  corner.  .  .  .  Lookout!  .  .  . 
Do  not  sleep  or  doze  ! "  He  spoke  rapidly, 
while  the  recruit  listened  with  close  attention, 
and  a  peculiar  expression  of  anxiety  and  sad- 
ness in  his  gray  eyes. 

"You  understand?"    asked  his  superior. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Then,  look  out !  "  he  added,  sharply ;  but, 
suddenly  changing  his  tone,  he  said,  good- 
naturedly: — 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Faddeyef ;  yon  are  not  a 
woman!  I  hope  you  are  not  afraid  of  the 
Ly^shy !  "  * 

"  Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  him  ?  "  replied 
Faddeyef.     Then   he   added,  "  But  I  tell  you, 

*  The  Spirit  of  the  Woods.  —  Tb. 


EASTER  NIGHT.  59 

my  good  fellows,  I  liave  a  misgiving/'  This 
simple  and  almost  cliildisli  confession  made  the 
soldiers  laugh. 

"There's  simplicity  for  you!"  exclaimed 
the  leader,  in  tones  of  contempt.  Then  giving 
the  order,  "  Shoulder  arms  !  march !  "  the  sen- 
tries, with  measured  tread,  disappeared  around 
the  corner,  and  the  sound  of  their  footsteps 
was  soon  lost  in  the  distance.  The  sentinel 
shouldered  his  musket,  and  began  to  pace  along 
the  wall. 

Inside  the  prison,  at  the  first  stroke  of  the 
bell,  all  was  in  motion.  It  was  long  since  the 
sad  and  gloomy  prison-night  had  witnessed  so 
much  life.  It  seemed  as  if  the  church-bells  had 
really  brought  tidings  of  liberty  ;  for  the  grimy 
doors  of  the  cells  opened  in  turn,  and  their 
occupants,  clad  in  long  gray  garments,  the 
fatal  patches  on  their  backs,  filed  in  rows 
along  the  corridors,  oh  their  way  to  the  brill- 
iantly lighted  prison-church.  They  came  from 
all  directions,  —  from  right  and  left,  descend- 
ing and  ascending  the  stairway, —  and  amid  the 
echoing  footsteps  rang  the  sound  of  arms  and 
the    clanking    of    chains.      On    entering    the 


70  EASTER  NIGHT, 

church,  this  gray  mass  of  humanity  poured 
into  the  space  allotted  to  them,  behind  the 
railing,  and  stood  there  in  silence.  The  win- 
dows of  the  church  were  protected  by  strong 
iron  bars.  .  .  . 

The  prison  was  empty,  except  in  the  four 
towers,  where,  in  small,  strongly  bolted  cells, 
four  men,  in  solitary  confinement,  were  rest- 
lessly pacing  to  and  fro,  stopping  once  in  a 
while  to  listen  at  the  key-hole  to  the  snatches 
of  church-singing  that  reached  their  ears.  .  .  . 

And,  beside  these,  in  one  of  the  ordinary 
cells,  in  a  bunk,  lay  a  sick  man.  The  overseer, 
to  whom  this  sudden  illness  had  been  reported, 
went  into  his  cell  as  they  were  escorting  the 
prisoners  to  church,  and,  leaning  over  him, 
looked  into  his  eyes,  that  were  gazing  fixedly 
before  him,  and  in  which  shone  a  peculiar 
light. 

"  Ivanof !  Ivanof !  "  he  called  out  to  the 
invalid. 

The  convict  never  turned  his  head,  but  con- 
tinued muttering  something  unintelligible,  mov- 
ing his  parched  lips  with  difficulty. 

"  Carry   him    to   the   hospital   to-morrow !  " 


EASTEE  NIGHT.  71 

said  the  overseer,  as  he  left  the  cell,  appointing 
a  sentry  to  guard  the  door.  The  latter,  after  a 
close  examination  of  the  delirious  patient,  shook 
his  head,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  A  vagrant ! 
Poor  fellow !  you  are  not  likely  to  tramp  any 
more  !  "  The  overseer  continued  his  way  along 
the  corridor,  and  entered  the  church,  taking  up 
his  post  by  the  door,  where,  with  frequent  gen- 
uflections, he  listened  devotedly  to  the  service. 
Meanwhile  the  mutterings  of  the  unconscious 
man  filled  the  empty  cell. 

He  did  not  seem  old ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
looked  strong  and  muscular.  He  was  delirious, 
apparently  re-living  his  recent  past,  while  a  look  . 
of  distress  disfigured  his  face.  Fate  had  played 
him  a  sorry  trick.  He  had  tramped  thousands 
of  versts  through  the  Siberian  forests  and 
mountains,  had  suffered  countless  dangers  and 
privations,  always  urged  onward  by  a  consum- 
ing homesickness,  and  sustained  by  one  hope 
—  that  he  might  live  to  see  his  native  place, 
and  be  once  more  with  his  own  people,  if  it 
were  but  for  a  month,  or  even  a  week.  Then 
he  would  be  resigned,  even  if  he  had  to  go 
back  again.     But  it  chanced  that  when  only  a 


72  EASTER  NIGHT, 

few  hundred  versts  from  his  native  village  he 
had  been  recaptured,  and  confined  in  this 
prison.  Suddenly  his  mutterings  ceased.  His 
eyes  dilated,  and  his  breathing  became  more 
even.  .  .  .  Brighter  dreams  flitted  across  his 
fevered  brain.  .  .  .  The  forest  soughs.  .  .  .  He 
knows  it  well,  that  soughing ;  monotonous, 
musical,  and  powerful.  .  .  .  He  can  distinguish 
its  various  tones  ;  the  language  of  each  tree  — 
the  majestic  pine,  dusky  green,  rustling  high 
overhead,  .  .  .  the  whispering  cedars,  .  .  .  the 
bright,  merry  birch,  tossing  its  flexible  branches, 
.  .  .  the  trembling  aspen,  fluttering  its  timid, 
sensitive  leaves.  .  .  .  The  free  birds  sing ;  the 
stream  rushes  across  the  stony  chasm;  and  a 
swarm  of  gibbering  magpies,  detectives  of  the 
forest,  are  soaring  in  the  air  over  the  path  fol- 
lowed by  the  vagrant  through  this  almost  im- 
penetrable thicket. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  breeze  from  the  free  forest 
were  wafted  through  the  prison-cell.  The 
invalid  sat  up  and  drew  a  long  breath,  gazing 
intently  before  him,  while  a  sudden  gleam  of 
consciousness  flashed  into  his  eyes.  .  .  .  The 
vagrant,  the  habitual  fugitive,  beheld   before 


EASTER  NIGHT.  73 

him  an  unaccustomed  sight,  ...  an  open 
door!  .  .  . 

In  his  frame,  enfeebled  by  disease,  a  powerful 
instinct  sprang  to  life.  His  delirium  either  dis- 
appeared, or  centred  itself  on  one  idea,  which, 
like  a  ray  of  sunlight,  illumined  the  chaos  of 
his  thoughts.  Aloue  !  and  with  an  open  door ! 
In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  fever  had  left  his  braiu,  and  was  only 
perceptible  in  his  eyes,  which  had  a  fixed  and 
menacing  expression. 

Some  one  had  just  come  out  from  the  church, 
leaving  the  door  ajar. 

The  strains  of  the  harmonious  singing,  sub- 
dued by  the  distance,  reached  the  ear  of  the 
vagrant,  and  then  died  away.  His  face  soft- 
ened, his  eyes  grew  dim,  and  his  imagination 
reproduced  a  long  cherished  scene :  A  mild 
night,  the  whisper  of  the  pines,  their  branches 
swaying  above  the  old  church  of  his  native 
village  ;  .  .  .  a  throng  of  countrymen ;  the 
lights  reflected  in  the  river,  and  this  same 
chant.  .  .  .  He  must  make  haste  with  his  jour- 
ney, that  he  may  hear  this  at  home,  with  his 
family !  .  .  . 


74  EASTEB  NIGHT. 

All  this  time,  in  the  corridor,  near  the  church- 
door,  the  overseer  prayed  devoutly,  kneeling, 
and  touching  his  forehead  to  the  ground.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  the  young  recruit  paced  to  and 
fro  on  his  beat  along  the  prison  wall,  which 
glowed  with  a  phosphorescent  light.  A  broad, 
level  field,  recently  freed  from  snow,  lay  before 
him. 

A  light  wind  rustled  through  the  tall  grass, 
inclining  him  to  a  sad  and  pensive  mood. 

The  moon  hung  high  above  the  horizon ;  the 
expression  of  anxiety  had  vanished  from  Fad- 
deyef  s  face.  He  stopped  by  the  wall,  and,  set- 
ting his  musket  on  the  ground,  rested  his  hand 
on  the  muzzle,  on  which  he  leaned  his  head, 
falling  into  a  deep  reverie.  He  could  not  yet 
wholly  grasp  the  idea  of  his  presence  in  this 
place,  on  this  solemn  Easter  night,  beside  the 
wall,  with  a  musket  in  his  hand,  and  opposite 
the  vacant  field.  He  had  by  no  means  ceased 
to  be  a  peasant ;  many  things  clear  to  a  soldier 
were  to  him  incomprehensible ;  and  he  was 
often  teased  by  being  called  "  a  rustic."  But  a 
short  time  ago  he  was  a  free  man,  had  the  care 
of   a   household,  owned   a  field,   and   was   at 


EASTER  NIGHT.  75 

liberty  to  labor  when  and  where  he  pleased. 
Now,  an  indefinite,  inexplicable  fear  beset  his 
every  step  and  movement,  forcing  the  awk- 
ward young  rustic  into  the  groove  of  strict  dis- 
cipline. At  this  moment  he  was  alone  .  .  .  the 
bleak  landscape  before  him,  and  the  wind 
whistling  through  the  dry  grass,  made  him 
dreamy ;  and  memories  of  familiar  scenes  passed 
through  his  mind.  He  seemed  to  see  his  native 
village  !  The  same  moon  shone  above  it,  the 
same  breeze  blew  over  it ;  he  saw  the  lighted 
church,  and  the  dark  pines  tossing  their  green 
heads.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  of  his  pres- 
ent surroundings,  and  surprise  kindled  his  blue 
eyes,  as  though  he  were  questioning:  "What 
are  these?  this  field,  this  wall  and  musket?'' 
For  an  instant  he  realized  where  he  was,  but  in 
another  moment  the  whistling  breeze  wafted 
him  back  to  familiar  scenes ;  and  again  the 
soldier  dreamt,  leaning  on  his  musket.  .  .  . 

All  at  once,  close  beside  him,  appeared  a 
head  over  the  top  of  the  wall  .  .  .  the  eyes 
glimmering  like  two  coals.  .  .  .  The  vagrant 
peered  into  the  open  field,  and  beyond  it  to  the 


76  EASTER  NIGHT, 

shadowy  line  of  the  distant  forest  ...  his 
chest  expanded  as  he  greedily  inhaled  the  re- 
freshing breath  of  "  motlier  night."  He  let 
himself  down  by  his  hands,  gently  gliding  along 
the  wall. 

The  joyful  ringing  had  awakened  the  slum- 
bering  night.  The  door  of  the  prison-church 
was  opened,  and  the  procession  moved  into  the 
yard.  *  In  waves  of  melody  the  singing  poured 
forth  from  the  church.  The  soldier  started, 
lifted  his  cap,  and  was  about  to  make  the  sign 
of  the  cross  .  .  .  when  he  suddenly  stopped, 
with  his  hand  raised  in  the  act  of  prayer,  wliile 
the  vagrant,  having  reached  the  ground, 
swiftly  started  on  a  run  towards  the  tall  grass. 

"  Stop,  pray,  stop,  my  dearest  fellow  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  soldier,  in  a  terrified  voice,  as  he 
raised  his  musket.  At  the  sight  of  this  gray 
figure  fleeing  from  pursuit,  all  his  shapeless  and 
terrible  fears  took  a  definite  form.  "Duty  — 
responsibility !  "    flashed   across  his  mind,  and, 

*  On  Easter  night  a  part  of  the  ceremony  of  the  Greek 
Church  consists  in  the  carrying  of  crosses  and  banners  by 
the  clergy  around  the  outside  of  the  church,  in  commemora- 
tion of  the  seeking  of  the  body  of  Christ  by  Joseph  of 
Arimathea.  —  Tk.    ' 


EASTER  NIGHT,  77 

raising  his  musket,  he  aimed  at  the  fugitive. 
But  before  pulling  the  trigger  he  pitifully  shut 
his  eyes.  ... 

Meanwhile,  above  the  town  there  rose, 
hovering  in  the  ether,  a  harmonious  and  pro- 
longed chime,  marred  only  by  the  prison-bell, 
that  trembled  and  fluttered  like  a  wounded 
bird ;  and  from  beyond  the  wall  the  sounds  of 
the  joyous  chant,  "Christ  is  arisen,"  reached  far 
into  the  field.  Suddenly,  above  all  other  sounds, 
came  the  report  of  a  musket,  followed  by  a 
faint,  helpless  groan,  like  a  plaintive  and  dying 
protest.  Then  for  a  moment  all  was  still ;  a^id 
only  the  distant  echoes  of  the  vacant  field  re- 
peated with  a  sad  murmur  the  last  reverbera- 
tion of  the  shot  amid  the  silence  of  the  terror- 
stricken  night. 


A  SAGHALINIAN. 


THE   TALE   OF   A   VAGRANT. 


My  comrade  had  gone,  and  I  was  to  spend 
the  night  alone  in  our  yourt.* 

Not  feeling  in  the  mood  for  working,  I  did 
not  light  the  fire,  and,  as  I  reclined  on  my  bed, 
I  fell  by  degrees  under  the  dismal  spell  of  the 
gathering  gloom  and  silence,  while  the  waning 
daylight  merged  itself  into  the  cold  night-mist. 
Little  by  little,  the  last  rays  of  light  disap- 
peared from  th^  ice  windows,  and  profound 
darkness  crept  out  from  the  corners,  veiling 
the  sloping  walls  of  the  yourt,  wliiuh  seemed 
gradually  contracting  more  and  more  over  my 
head.  For  a  while,  the  outlines  of  the  fire- 
place remained  dimly  visible,  like  some  ugly 
Pen  ate  of  a  Yakut  dwelling,  who,  with  out- 
stretched  arms,  meets    the  invading  darkness, 

*  Siberian  hut.  Many  of  the  Russian  exiles  adopt  the 
winter  expedients  of  the  Yakuts  or  inhabitants  of  Yakutsk. 
—  Te. 

78 


A  SAGHALINIAN,  79 

as  if  invoking  it  in  silent  prayer.  But  at  last 
even  these  faint  outlines  were  Lost  in  the  utter 
darkness.  Only  in  three  spots  shone  a  soft 
phosphorescent  light  like  a  gleam  from  the 
dark  eyes  of  the  Yakut  Frost  peering  in  at 
the  windows.  Minutes  and  hours  passed  in 
silence,  and  I  was  not  aware  how  impercep- 
tibly had  crept  upon  me  that  fatal  hour  when 
a  longing  for  home  fully  takes  possession  of 
one's  soul,  —  the  hour  when,  conjured  up  by 
a  fevered  imagination,  all  those  hills,  forests, 
and  interminable  steppes  that  lie  between 
one's  self  and  all  that  life  holds  dear  rise 
threateningly  in  their  measureless  and  un con- 
quered distance.  All  so  far  away  and  so 
utterly  lost,  now  beckoning,  now  seeming  to 
fade  from  sight,  and  flickering  in  the  dim 
distance  like  the  glimmer  of  a  dying  hope. 
The  suppressed  yet  ever  present  grief,  buried 
deeply  in  the  recesses  of  one's  heart,  now 
boldly  raises  its  ill-omened  head,  and,  amid 
the  universal  stillness  and  darkness,  plainly 
whispers  the  terrible  words  :  "  Forever  in  this 
grave,  .  .  .  forever  !  " 

A  gentle  whining,  coming  from  the  flat  roof, 


80  ^   SAGHALINIAN, 

through  the  chimney,  reached  my  ears,  and 
roused  me  from  my  stupor. 

It  was  my  intelligent  friend,  my  faithful 
dog,  who,  chilled  at  his  post,  was  asking  what 
troubled  me,  and  why,  when  the  cold  was  so 
severe,  I  did  not  light  the  fire.  I  rose,  con- 
scious that  I  was  playing  a  losing  game  in  this 
struggle  with  silence  and  darkness,  and  decided 
to  have  recourse  to  the  means  at  hand,  —  the 
Spirit  of  the  yourt  —  Fire. 

In  winter  the  Yakut  never  allows  his  fire  to 
go  out,  and  has,  therefore,  no  Avay  of  closing 
the  chimney.  We  had  contrived  some  rude 
appliances  so  that  our  chimney  could  be  closed 
from  the  outside ;  but,  in  order  to  do  so,  it  was 
necessary  to  climb  up  on  the  flat  roof  of  the 
yourt. 

I  went  up  on  to  the  roof  by  means  of 
steps  which  had  been  cut  in  the  snow  that 
protected  the  yourt.  Our  dwelling  stood  on 
the  outer  edge  of  the  settlement. 

Generally,  from  the  roof  we  could  see  the 
narrow  valley  and  the  hills  that  enclosed  it, 
as  well  as  the  fires  of  the  yourts  of  exiled 
Tartars  and  of  those  occupied  by  the  descend- 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  81 

ants  of  Russian  settlers,  who  in  the  course  of 
years  had  become  Yakut.  Now,  all  was  envel- 
oped in  a  cold,  gray,  impenetrable  mist,  which 
hung  immovable,  condensed  by  a  cold  of  forty 
degrees,  and  pressing  the  silent  earth  with 
increasing  weight. 

Ever^^where,  a  dull  gray  expanse  of  fog  met 
the  eye,  save  where,  high  overhead,  twinkled 
a  solitary  star,  piercing  the  cold  shroud  with 
its  sharp  rays. 

Around  all  was  still.  .  .  .  The  high  bank  of 
the  river,  the  miserable  yourts  of  the  settle- 
ment, the  small  church,  the  smooth  and  snowy 
valley,  the  dark  strip  of  forest,  —  all  became 
merged  in  this  shoreless  sea  of  fog.  The  roof 
of  the  yourt,  with  its  rude  clay  chimney, 
where  I  was  standing,  with  the  dog  crouching 
at  my  feet,  seemed  like  an  island  in  an  illim- 
itable gray  ocean. 

All  was  cold,  bleak,  and  still.  The  night 
was  the  embodiment  of  terror,  —  constrained 
and  watchful,  —  like  one  who  strives  to  hide 
himself.  The  dog  whined  gently  and  pitifully, 
evidently  in  terror  of  the  benumbing  frost. 
Crouching  at  my  feet,  and  plaintively  stretch- 


82  ^  SAGHALINIAN. 

lug  out  his  sharp  nose  and  pricking  up  his 
ears,  he  gazed  intently  into  the  thick,  gathering 
dusk. 

Suddenly  he  growled.  I  listened.  At  first, 
I  could  distinguish  nothing;  then,  in  that 
strained  silence,  a  sound  was  heard,  another 
and  still  another,  —  as  of  a  horse  galloping  far 
away  on  the  meadows.  Thinking  of  the  lonely 
rider,  who,  judging  by  the  sound,  was  as  yet 
some  two  or  three  miles  away  from  the  hamlet, 
I  hastily  ran  down  from  the  roof  and  entered 
the  yourt.  An  unprotected  face,  exposed  to 
the  air,  might  result  in  a  frost-bitten  nose  or 
cheek.  The  dog,  giving  one  loud  and  hasty 
bark  in  the  direction  of  the  galloping,  fol- 
lowed me. 

Soon  in  the  wide,  open  mouth  of  the  fire- 
place, in  the  middle  of  the  yourt,  a  bright  fire 
of  chips  was  liglited.  I  added  to  it  some  dry 
logs  of  pitchy  birch,  and  in  a  few  moments  my 
dwelling  was  totally  changed.  Now  the  silent 
yourt  was  filled  with  noise  and  talking.  The 
fire,  with  a  hundred  tongues,  played  among 
the  logs,  enveloping  them,  jumping,  snarling, 
hissing,  and  snapping.     Something  bright  and 


A   SAGIIALINIAN,  83 

living,  wide-awake  and  talkative,  filled  the 
yourt,  peeping  into  all  its  nooks  and  corners. 
When,  at  times,  the  crackling  of  the  flames 
ceased,  I  could  hear  the  hot  sparks  fly  up  the 
short,  straight  chimBrey,  snapping  in  the  frosty 
air.  But  soon  the  fire  renewed  its  play  with 
redoubled  energy,  while  frequent  and  loud 
reports,  like  pistol-shots,  echoed  through  the 
yourt. 

Now  that  all  around  me  was  moving,  talking, 
bustling,  and  dancing,  I  did  not  feel  as  lonely 
as  before.  The  ice  windows,  through  which, 
but  one  moment  before,  the  frosty  night  had 
peered,  now  sparkled  like  gems,  reflecting  the 
flames.  I  comforted  myself  by  thinkiijg  that 
my  yourt  alone,  like  a  small  volcano  in  the 
midst  of  this  cold,  dreary  night,  was  pouring 
out  a  torrent  of  fiery  sparks,  flickering  spas- 
modically in  the  air,  amidst  volumes  of  white 
smoke. 

Motionless  as  a  statue,  the  dog  sat  gazing  at 
the  fire.  From  time  to  time  he  turned  his  head, 
and  in  his  intelligent  eyes  I  could  read  the  ex- 
pression of  love  and  gratitude.  A  heavy  tramp 
was  heard  outside ;  yet  he  did  not  stir,  content- 


84  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

ing  himself  with  a  complacent  whine.  He 
knew  that  these  were  only  our  horses,  that  had 
been  standing  somewhere  under  a  fence,  and 
now  had  come  to  the  yourt,  and  were  watching 
the  sparks  fly  merrily  upward,  and  the  broad 
ribbon  of  warm  smoke.  Suddenly  the  dog 
reluctantly  turned  from  the  fire,  and  growled, 
and  the  next  moment  bounded  to  the  door.  I 
let  him  out,  and,  from  his  accustomed  post  on 
the  roof,  he  began  barking  furiously.  I  looked 
out  of  the  door-way;  apparently,  the  lonely 
traveller  whose  approach  I  had  previously 
heard  through  the  sensitive  silence  of  the  frosty 
night  had  been  attracted  by  my  cheerful  fire. 
He  had  taken  down  the  bars  of  the  gate,  so  as 
to  make  a  passageway  for  his  heavily  laden 
horse. 

I  was  not  expecting  any  one  of  my  acquaint- 
ances. A  native  would  hardly  have  come  so 
late ;  and  if  he  had,  he  would  have  known 
where  his  friends  lived,  and  would  not  have 
turned  in  at  the  first  fire.  "Therefore,"  I  said 
to  myself,  "this  can  only  be  some  settler." 
Generally,  we  were  not  anxious  to  see  such 
company ;  but  now  any  man  was  welcome.     I 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  85 

knew  tliat  shortly  the  bright  light  of  the  fire 
would  grow  dim,  the  flames  indolently  and 
slowly  enveloping  the  charred  logs ;  that  still 
later  only  a  heap  of  coals  would  remain,  with 
the  whispering  fiery  snakes  gliding  amongst 
them,  more  and  more  slowly,  and  finally  silence 
and  darkness  would  reign  supreme  in  the  yourt, 
and  again  would  my  heart"  be  filled  with  sorrow. 
The  faint  spark  in  the  ashes  would  glimmer  like 
a  half-closed  eye,  peering  out  once  or  twice,  and 
then  dropping  to  sleep.  And  once  more  I 
should  remain  alone ;  .  .  .  alone  in  the  long, 
endless,  and  dreary  night. 

The  thought  of  spending  the  night  under  the 
same  roof  with  a  man  whose  past  might  possi- 
bly be  stained  with  blood  did  not  enter  my 
head.  Siberia  teaches  one  to  find  the  man  inj 
the  murderer;  and  although  a  more  intimate 
acquaintance  saves  one  from  idealizing  "  the 
unfortunate "  who  has  broken  locks,  stolen 
horses,  or  crushed  his  neighbor's  skull  on  a 
dark  night,  still,  such  an  acquaintance  gives 
one  a  chance  to  study  the  complicated  springs 
of  human  motives. 

One  learns  what  to   expect  of  a   man.     A 


86  ^   SAGUALINIAN. 

murderer  is  not  always  employed  in  murder- 
ing. He  lives  and  feels  like  other  men,  and 
like  them  he  is  grateful  to  those  who  shelter 
him  from  frost  and  storm.  But  whenever  I 
chanced  to  make  a  new  acquaintance  among 
these  folk,  particularly  if  he  happened  to  be  the 
owner  of  a  saddle-horse,  with  well  lilled  saddle- 
bags hanging  on  either  side,  then  the  question 
concerning  the  ownership  of  the  horse,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  contents  of  the  bags,  called  forth 
certain  suspicions,  and  aroused  speculation  as 
to  the  means  and  w^ays  of  their  acquirement. 

The  heavy  horse-hair-covered  door  of  the 
yourt  opened  towards  the  inclined  wall,  a  wave 
of  steam  followed,  and  a  stranger  entered,  and 
approached  the  fireplace.  He  was  a  tall  man, 
broad-shouldered  and  well  built.  One  could 
perceive,  at  the  first  glance,  that  he  was  not  a 
Yakut,  although  he  was  dressed  like  one. 

He  wore  soft  boots,  made  of  pure  white  horse- 
hide  ;  the  wide  sleeves  of  his  Yakut  fur  coat 
rose  in  folds  over  his  ears ;  his  head  and  neck 
were  protected  by  a  large  shawl,  the  ends  of 
which  were  tied  around  his  waist.  This,  as 
well  as  his  Yakut  hat,  the  top  of  which  alone 


A   SAGUALINIAN.  87 

was  visible,  was  thickly  covered  with  frozen 
snow-flakes. 

The  stranger  went  up  to  the  fire,  and  with 
his  benumbed  fingers  untied  the  shawl  and  the 
leather  straps  of  his  hat.  When  he  had  thrown 
them  back,  I  saw  the  fresh,  young  face  of  a  man 
of  thirty.  His  large  features  were  stamped 
with  that  peculiar  expression  that  I  have  often 
noticed  on  the  faces  of  the  stdrostas  *  of  con- 
vict artels,  as  well  as  on  those  of  all  men 
whose  authority  is  recognized  in  their  sphere, 
but  who  still  feel  obliged  to  be  on  their  guard 
with  strangers.  His  expressive,  glancing,  black 
eyes  and  his  protruding  jaw  betrayed  a  passion- 
ate nature.  The  vagrant  f  (for  I  judged,  from 
a  certain  slight,  but  unmistakable  sign,  that  my 
guest  belonged  to  this  class)  was  well  used  to 
controlling  his  passions.  Only  a  slight  nervous 
tremor  of  the  lower  lip,  and  the  twitching  of  the 
muscles  of  the  face  at  times,  betrayed  the  inten- 
sity of  some  inward  struggle. 

*  Elder  of  convict  unions. 

t  *' Vagrant,"  or  *' vagabond/'  is  the  name  given  to  es- 
caped convicts  who  "tramp"  their  way  through  Siberia 
back  to  Europe. 


8.8  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

Fatigue,  the  frosty  night,  and  perhaps  an  in- 
definable sadness  which  the  traveller  felt  as  he 
rode  through  this  impenetrable  fog,  had  some- 
what softened  the  sharp  outlines  of  his  face  and 
stamped  their  impress  on  his  brow  and  in  his 
dark  eyes  so  full  of  pathos.  His  aspect  was  in 
harmony  with  my  present  feelings,  and  awa- 
kened in  me  an  unaccountable  sympathy.  With- 
out further  divesting  himself  of  his  wraps,  he 
leaned  against  the  chimney  and  took  a  pipe 
out  of  his  pocket. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir !  '*  he  said,  knocking 
his  pipe  on  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  and  at 
the  same  time  scanning  me  with  a  swift  yet 
searching  glance. 

"  How  do  you  do !  "  I  replied,  also  looking  at 
him  with  curiosity. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  intruding  thus. 
I  only  want  to  warm  myself  a  little  and  to 
smoke  my  pipe ;  then  I  will  go,  for  I  have 
friends  here  who  are  glad  to  see  me  at  any 
time.     They  live  two  miles  away." 

His  tones  were  reserved,  like  those  of  a  man 
who  was  evidently  unwilling  to  appear  intru- 
sive.    Again  he  gave  me  a  quick  and  scruti- 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  89* 

nizing  glance,  as  though  awaiting  my  reply  in 
order  to  form  a  plan  of  action  in  accordance 
therewith.  "  I  will  treat  you  as  you  treat  me," 
his  cool  and  steady  glances  seemed  to  say.  At 
all  events,  the  manners  of  my  guest  formed  a 
pleasing  contrast  to  the  ordinary  importunity 
of  the  Yakut  settlers ;  though,  evidently,  had 
he  not  calculated  on  spending  the  night  with 
me,  he  would  not  have  led  his  horse  into  the 
yard,  but  would  have  fastened  him  to  the 
fence  outside. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  is  your  name  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  My  name  ?  I  am  called  Bagylai.  In  Rus- 
sian my  name  is  Vasili.  Perhaps  you  may 
have  heard  about  me  ?  I  live  in  the  Bayang- 
atd'i  District." 

"  A  native  of  the  UraL?     A  vagrant  ?  " 

An  imperceptible  smile  of  satisfaction  flitted 
across  the  lips  of  the  stranger. 

"  So  you  have  heard  about  me  ?  " 

"N.  has  spoken  to  me  of  you.  You  were 
neighbors." 

"  Precisely  !     Mr.  N.  knows  me  well." 

"  I  am  happy  to  welcome  you !     You  will 


90  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

spend  the  night  with  me,  will  you  not  ?     I  am 
all  alone,  and  we  will  start  the  samovar." 

The  vagrant  eagerly  accepted  my  invitation. 

"  Thank  you,  sir  !  Since  you  ask  me,  I  will 
stay.  But  I  must  take  off  my  bags  from  the 
saddle,  and  bring  them  in  ;  —  my  horse  is  fast- 
ened in  the  yard ;  still,  it  would  be  safer.  The 
people  in  your  settlement  are  sharpers,  espe- 
cially the  Tartars." 

He  went  out,  and  a  moment  after  returned, 
bringing  in  the  two  saddle-bags.  Unfastening 
the  straps,  he  took  out  the  provisions  which  he 
carried  with  him ;  pats  of  frozen  milk  and 
butter,  several  dozens  of  eggs,  etc.  The  eggs 
he  put  on  my  shelves ;  and  the  rest  he  carried 
out  into  the  entry,  so  that  they  would  not  melt. 
Then  he  took  off  his  shawl,  his  fur  coat,  and 
his  caftdn,  keeping  on  only  his  Turkey-red 
shirt  and  velveteen  trousers,  and  seated  him- 
self before  the  fireplace. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  looking  up  and  smiling, 
"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  truth ;  as  I  was 
nearing  your  gate,  I  thought  to  mj^self,  '  I 
wonder  if  the  owner  will  allow  me  to  spend 
the  night  with  him  ?  '     Of  course,  I  understand 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  91 

very  well  that  there  are  all  sorts  of  characters 
among  us,  some  of  whom  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  ask  to  stay  over  night ;  but  I  am  not 
of  that  class,  I  tell  you  frankly.  Did  you  say 
that  you  had  heard  about  me  ?  " 

"  i  have." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  can  say  without 
boasting  that  I  make  an  honest  living.  I  own 
a  cow,  a  three-year-old  ox,  and  a  horse.  ...  I 
cultivate  my  land,  and  have  a  vegetable-garden 
besides." 

The  vagrant  said  all  this  in  a  constrained 
voice,  his  eyes  fixed  on  one  spot,  gesticulating 
as  he  spoke,  as  though  he  were  wondering  at 
himself.  His  manner  seemed  to  asseverate, 
"  All  that  I  tell  you  is  true." 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  in  the  same  tone  of 
voice,  "  I  work,  as  God  wishes  us  to  do.  I 
consider  it  better  than  stealing  or  highway 
robbery.  ...  As  I  ride'  along  the  road,  I  see  a 
fire,  and  I  stop  at  your  house.  .  .  .  You  start 
the  samovdr  and  entertain  me.  I  cannot  fail  to 
appreciate  all  this.     Do  I  not  speak  the  truth?" 

''  Certainly,"  I  replied. 

While  making  these  statements,  the  vagrant 


92  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

appeared  to  be  soliloquizing,  as  if  trying  to 
convince  himself  of  the  advantages  of  his 
present  life. 

I  had  heard  about  Vasili  from  my  friends. 
Formerly  a  vagrant,  he  had  later  become 
a  settler,  and  now  for  two  years  had  been 
living  in  his  own  house,  in  the  midst  of  a 
forest,  near  a  lake,  in  one  of  the  great  Yakut 
districts.  Among  the  reckless  and  God-for- 
saken crowd  of  settlers,  who  live  from  hand 
to  mouth,  often  stealing  and  plundering,  he 
was  one  of  the  few  who  preferred  to  labor, 
a  mode  of  life  which  here  offered  an  easy 
chance  to  improve  one'&  condition.  Generally 
speaking,  the  Yakut  are  a  very  good-natured 
people,  and  in  many  districts  it  is  customary  to 
offer  the  newly  arrived  settlers  substantial  help. 

Were  it  not  for  such  help,  a  man  whom 
circumstances  have  placed  in  the  rigorous  and 
to  him  unknown  conditions  of  this  country 
would  either  soon  perish  of  cold  and  hunger 
or  take  to  highway  robbery.  In  a  general  way- 
such  help  was  more  willingly  given  in  the 
form  of  "  travelling  expenses,"  by  means  of 
which  the   Yakut   commune   often   endeavors 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  93 

to  rid  itself  of  a  settler,  sending  liini  away  to 
the  mines,  whence  the  majority  of  these  un- 
comfortable citizens  never  return  ;  yet  in 
most  cases  where  a  man  shows  a  willingness 
to  work  in  good  earnest,  help  is  freely  prof- 
fered. The  commune  gave  Vasili  a  hut  and 
an  ox,  and  the  first  year  planted  for  him  six 
poods  *  of  wheat. 

The  harvest  was  good ;  and,  in  addition  to 
this,  he  hired  himself  out  advantageously  to  the 
Yakut  as  a  mower,  and  also  traded  in  tobacco, 
—  so  that  in  two  years  his  affairs  were  flour- 
ishing. The  Yakut  treated  him  with  defer- 
ence, the  settlers  called  him  ''  Vasili  Ivan- 
itch  "  to  his  face,  modifying  it  to  "  Vaska " 
only  behind  his  back.  The  priests,  on  their 
way  to  visit  their  parishioners,  liked  to  stop  at 
his  house,  and,  whenever  he  chanced  to  call 
upon  them,  invited  him  to  take  a  seat  at  their 
table.  He  was  also  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  educated  class  whose  lot  had  been  cast  in 
this  distant  country.  It  did  seem  now  as 
though  he  could  live  well.  Marriage  alone 
remained  to  be  accomplished.     Of  course,  this 

*  A  pood,  or  pud,  is  thirty-six  pounds  avoirdupois. 


94  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

might  be  a  more  difficult  task,  as  vagrants  are 
usually  forbidden  to  marry ;  but  even  this 
could  be  arranged  for  a  small  sum  of  money,  a 
calf,  or  a  good  colt. 

Still,  as  I  examined  the  young  vagrant's  en- 
ergetic face,  I  could  guess  that  he  was  some- 
what eccentric.  After  a  while,  this  face 
attracted  me  less  than  at  first,  though  still  it 
was  a  pleasant  one.  The  expression  of  his 
dark  eyes  was  thoughtful  and  intelligent ;  his 
features  were  strong,  his  manners  easy,  and  in 
his  voice  one  could  distinguish  the  satisfied 
ambition  of  a  proud  nature.  Only,  at  times,  the 
lower  part  of  his  face  twitched  nervously,  and 
his  eyes  grew  dim.  It  seemed  to  require  an 
effort  to  preserve  this  calm  tone,  beneath  which 
a  certain  sadness,  controlled  by  his  will  alone, 
made  itself  manifest  in  spite  of  him. 

At  first  I  could  not  account  for  it ;  but  later 
I  understood  all.  The  habitual  vagrant  was 
deceived  when  he  declared  himself  contented 
with  his  life,  his  house,  his  cow,  his  three-year- 
old  ox,  and  the  respect  that  was  shown  him. 
In  his  inmost  soul,  he  was  perfectly  sure, 
although  he  tried  to  suppress  the  conviction, 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  95 

that  this  commonplace  life,  in  a  strange  and 
unloved  land,  was  not  to  his  taste.  From  the 
depths  of  his  heart  arose  a  longing  for  the 
forest  life — that  unknown,  fascinating,  and 
delusive  vista  already  beckoning  him.  It  was 
thus  that  I  afterwards  understood  him. 

At  the  moment,  I  only  saw  that,  in  spite  of 
his  outward  calmness,  something  was  torment- 
ing and  troubling  him,  and  a  longing  was 
penned  up  in  his  soul  that  demanded  an  outlet. 
While  I  was  busy  with  the  samovd,r,  Vasili 
remained  before  the  fireplace,  thoughtfully 
gazing  at  the  flames.  When  all  was  ready,  I 
called  him. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said,  rising.  "  I  am 
much  obliged  for  your  kind  hospitality.  Ah  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  passionately,  turning  abruptly 
toward  me,  "  would  you  believe  me  that  when 
I  saw  your  fire,  my  heart  leaped,  I  assure 
you.     I  knew  it  was  the  fire  of  a  Russian. 

"  It  was  cold  and  dark  wliile  I  was  riding 
through  the  fields ;  and  whenever  my  horse  saw 
the  smoke  of  a  yourt,  he  was  inclined  to  turn 
in  ;  —  of  course,  he  is  a  Yakut  beast,  and  does 
not  know  any  better.     But,  for  my  part,  I  did 


96  ^   SAGIIALINIAN, 

not  care  to  enter  at  hap-hazard,  even  though  it 
were  a  comfortable  yourt.  To  be  sure,  I  could 
have  warmed  myself,  and  even  have  found 
some  brandy,  —  but  I  did  not  care  to  do  it. 
When  I  saw  your  fire,  I  thought  to  myself,  This 
is  the  place  where  I  should  like  to  rest,  if  the 
master  will  but  grant  me  leave.  Thank  you 
for  allowing  me  to  remain;  and  if  you  ever 
happen  to  come  our  way,  do  me  the  favor  to 
call  on  me.  I  shall  have  the  wherewithal 
to  entertain  you,  and  you  will  be  most  wel- 
come." 


II. 

Having  finished  his  tea,  Vasili  seated  him- 
self before  the  fire.  He  could  not  go  to  bed  as 
yet,  for  he  had  to  wait  for  his  horse  to  cool 
before  he  could  feed  it.  The  Yakut  horse  is 
not  particularly  heavy,  but  it  has  great  powers 
of  endurance.  The  natives  use  these  horses  to 
carry  butter  and  other  products  to  the  remote 
mines,  to  the  woods  where  the  Tungus  live, 
and  to  the  distant  Oochur,*  riding  hundreds 
*  A  tributary  of  the  Lena. 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  97 

of  versts  through  places  where  to  obtain  hay  is 
out  of  the  question.  When  they  wish  to  canip, 
they  sliovel  away  the  snow,  make  a  fire,  and  drive 
the  horses  into  the  woods,  wliere  the  intelligent 
creatures  provide  for  themselves,  nibbling  last 
year's  grass  from  under  the  snow,  and  in  the 
morning  are  again  ready  for  another  long 
expedition.  The  animal  has,  however,  one 
peculiarity.  It  cannot  be  fed  immediately  on 
arriving  from  a  journey  or  just  before  starting, 
and  frequently  a  well  fed  horse  goes  without 
food  for  twenty  hours  or  more  before  starting 
on  a  journey. 

Vasili  had  to  wait  three  hours,  and,  as  I  did 
not  feel  inclined  to  go  to  bed  myself,  we  sat 
chatting  at  intervals.  Vasili  —  or  Bagylai,  as  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  calling  himself  —  now  and 
then  added  wood  to  the  fire.  This  was  a  habit 
of  his,  which  he  had  acquired  during  the  long 
evenings  of  the  Yakut  Winter. 

"  Far  away,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  after  a 
prolonged  silence,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  own 
thoughts. 

"What  is  far?"  I  asked. 

"  Our  country,  Russia.  .  .  .  Everything  is  so 


98  ^   SAGHALINIAN, 

different  here,  wliicliever  way  you  tui'n.  Take, 
for  instance,  tlie  cattle,  or  a  horse.  Our  horses, 
after  a  long  journey,  are  fed  without  delay ;  but 
if  this  one  were  to  be  fed  now,  it  would  die. 
Look  at  the  people  !  —  They  live  in  the  woods, 
feed  on  horse-flesh  and  raw  meat ;  even  carrion 
is  not  despised !  It  is  shocking  !  They  have 
no  delicacy.  —  If  you  open  a  tobacco-pouch  in  a 
yourt,  immediately  all  stretch  out  their  hands, 
like  beggars,  and  you  are  obliged  to  share  with 
them." 

"Well,  that  is  their  custom,"  I  replied. 
"They  also  give  in  their  turn.  They  have 
helped  to  set  you  up.  ..." 

"  Yes.     That  is  true." 

"  Do  you  really  feel  satisfied  with  your  life  ?  " 
I  asked,  watching  him  closely. 

He  smiled  enigmatically. 

"  With  life  ..."  he  echoed,  tossing  an- 
other log  into  the  fire.  The  flames  lighted  his 
face ;  his  eyes  looked  dim. 

"Well,  sir,  if  I  should  begin  to  tell  you! 
...  I  have  seen  very  little  good  in  my  life, 
and  little  do  I  see  now.  Until  my  eighteenth 
year  it  was  fairly  pleasant,  and  I  lived  happily 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  99 

as  long  as  I  obeyed  my  parents.  When  I 
ceased  obeying  thein,  my  life  ended.  Since 
that  time,  I  cannot  call  it  a  life  —  only  a  vain 
struggle." 

Shadows  flitted  across  his  face,  and  his  lower 
lip  trembled  convulsively,  like  that  of  a  child ; 
he  seemed  to  be  living  in  imagination  in  the 
time  when  he  "  obeyed  his  parents."  He  had 
become  a  child  again,  and,  childlike,  was  ready 
to  weep  over  his  own  ruined  life. 

Noticing  that  I  was  looking  at  him  intently, 
he  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  talking  about  it !  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  hear  how  we  escaped  from  the 
island  of  Saglidlin  ?  " 

Of  course,  I  eagerly  assented  ;  and  all  night, 
until  the  break  of  day,  I  listened  to  the  va- 
grant's tale. 


III. 

On  a  summer  night  of  187-,  the  steamer 
Nlzhni-N6vgorod  was  crossing  the  waters  of 
the  Sea  of  Japan,  trailing  behtnd  it,  against 
the   blue  sky,  a  long  ribbon  of  black  smoke. 


100  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

The  steep  shore  of  the  Marine  Province  was 
visible  on  the  left,  through  the  hazy  light  of  the 
silvery  fog.  On  the  right,  the  ripples  of  the 
Straits  of  La  P^rouse  were  lost  in  the  distance. 
The  steamer  was  shaping  its  course  for  Sa- 
ghalin,  but  the  rocky  shores  of  that  island  were 
not  yet  in  sight.  All  on  board  was  quiet  and 
peaceful.  On  the  top  of  the  house  might  be 
seen  the  moonlit  figures  of  the  boatswain  and 
the  officers  on  duty,  while  the  flickering  lights 
of  the  cabins  were  reflected  from  the  dark  sur- 
face of  the  ocean. 

The  Nizhni-Novgorod  was  "freighted  with 
convicts  "  for  SaghS,lin.  Naval  laws  are  always 
strict,  and  on  board  a  ship  with  such  a  freight 
they  are  still  more  stringent.  During  the  day- 
time the  convicts,  closely  guarded,  exercised  in 
turn.  The  rest  of  the  time  they  remained  in 
their  cabin,  under  deck.  There  were  more  con- 
victs than  sentries ;  but,  to  make  amends  for 
this  inequality,  every  step  and  movement  of 
the  gray  crowd  was  controlled  by  a  firm  hand, 
a  well  disciplined  crew  strictly  guarding  against 
the  possibility  of  a  mutiny.  Indeed,  every 
chance  here  was  taken  into  consideration,  even 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  101 

the  improbable  :  supposing  a  wild  beast  were 
to  make  its  appearance  in  the  midst  of  this 
crowd,  and,  in  its  despair,  defy  all  danger ;  if 
sliots  fired  through  the  grating  had  no  effect, 
and  the  ragfino:  animal  threatened  to  break  down 
its  iron  cage,  even  in  such  a  case  the  captain 
would  still  have  a  powerful  remedy  at  his  com- 
mand. 

He  would  only  have  to  call  out  to  the  en- 
gineer's department  these  words  :  — 
"  Have  lever  so  and  so  .  .  .  opened  !  " 
"Aye,  aye,  sir  I"  and,  instantly,  scalding 
steam  would  be  poured  into  the  convict's  quar- 
ter, as  if  it  were  but  a  hole  filled  with  cock- 
roaches. This  unique  and  powerful  remedy 
prevented  every  possibility  of  a  general  out- 
break such  as  might  have  been  feared  from  the 
gray  population  of  the  hold.  They  occupied  a 
large  cabin  with  a  low  ceiling.  In  the  day- 
time the  light  came  through  small  dead-lights, 
standing  out  in  the  dark  background  like  two 
rows  of  buttons  — decreasing,  and  finally  disap- 
pearing, on  the  rounded  sides  of  the  steamer's 
hull.  Along  the  middle  of  the  hold  ran  a  nar- 
row passage,  shaped  like  a  corridor.     Iron  grat- 


102  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

iiigs  separated  tins  passageway  from  the  bunks 
of  the  convicts.  Here,  leaning  on  muskets,  the 
sentries  were  posted.  Lanterns,  in  a  funereal 
line,  shed  a  dim  light  througli  this  passage  in 
the  evening. 

Not  a  movement  of  the  gray  passengers  be- 
hind these  bars  escaped  the  eye.  Whether  a 
burning  tropical  sun  stood  overhead;  or  the 
wind  whistled  through  the  bending  and  creak- 
ing rigging ;  or  high  waves  washed  the  decks 
in  a  raging  gale,  and  the  steamer  groaned 
under  the  lashing  of  the  storm,  —  it  was  all 
the  same  to  them  —  to  these  hundreds  of  men, 
who  had  no  concern  with  what  was  going  on 
overhead,  or  whither  their  floating  prison  was 
steering. 

Meanwhile,  under  the  pressure  of  this  strict 
regime,  the  gray  population  behind  the  iron 
bars  lived  its  usual  life,  and  on  a  certain  night 
— when  the  steamer  was  leisurely  flapping  its 
wheels,  and  the  glow  of  its  fires  was  reflected 
from  the  undulating  surface  of  the  deep ;  when 
the  sentries,  leaning  on  their  muskets,  dozed  in 
the  corridors  of  the  hold,  and  the  lanterns, 
slightly  jarred   by  the   sleepless  engine,  shed 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  103 

their  dim  and  mournful  light  along  the  iron- 
bound  passageway,  —  behind  the  bars,  where 
the  sleeping  forms  of  the  convicts  rested  in 
motionless  rows,  there,  behind  these  very- 
bars,  a  silent  tragedy  was  enacted.  The  gray 
society  in  shackles  executed  its  own  cul- 
prits. .  .  . 

The  following  morning,  at  the  time  of  the 
roll-call,  three  convicts  remained  in  their 
bunks,  unheeding  the  stern  calls  of  the  guards. 
When  the  latter  went  behind  the  bars  and 
lifted  their  coverings,  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen 
that  these  three  would  never  again  answer  to 
the  roll-call. 

In  every  convict  artel  all  the  most  impor- 
tant affairs  are  controlled  by  an  influential  and 
united  group,  while  to  the  mass  —  the  gray, 
impersonal  crowd — such  events  are  often  quite 
unexpected.  Terrified  by  the  ghastly  tragedy 
of  the  night,  the  population  of  the  hold  was  at 
first  hushed.  An  awkward  silence  prevailed. 
Outside,  one  could  hear  nothing  but  the  splash- 
ing of  the  sea,  the  noise  of  the  murmuring 
waves  cleft  by  the  steamer's  hull  and  hurrying 
along  in  her  wake,  the  panting  breath  of  the 


104  ^   SAGnALINIAN. 

engine,   and   the   monotonous   strokes   of    the 
piston. 

Soon,  however,  the  consequences  of  the 
event  began  to  be  discussed  among  the  con- 
victs. The  officers  did  not  intend  to  overlook 
this  unpleasant  episode,  or  to  ascribe  these 
deaths  to  an  accident  or  illness.  The  proofs 
of  the  murder  were  evident.  An  investigation 
was  instituted,  but  the  convicts  unanimously 
denied  all  knowledge  of  the  affair.  Perhaps 
at  some  other  time  it  would  not  have  been 
difficult  to  find  several  persons  among  them 
who,  through  fear  or  bribes,  could  be  induced 
to  disclose  all  they  knew  ;  now,  however,  apart 
from  the  feeling  of  comradeship,  all  tongues, 
were  held  by  fear.  No  matter  how  dreaded 
might  be  the  officials,  or  how  stern  their  com- 
mands, the  artel  was  more  dreaded  still.  Un- 
doubtedly, some  must  have  been  awake  that 
night.  Certain  ears  must  have  heard  the  stifled 
sounds   of   the   struggle   "under  the  cover,"* 

*  To  ^*make  a  cover"  means,  in  the  convict  dialect,  to 
kiU  a  man  inside  the  prison-walls.  A  long,  loose  coat  worn 
by  the  convicts  is  generally  thrown  over  the  head  of  the  vic- 
tim, in  order  to  deaden  his  cries.  This  is  called  *'  making  a 
cover." — Author'' s  note. 


A   8AGHALINIAN.  105 

the  death-rattle,  and  the  panting  breath  so 
unlike  that  of  sleeping  men ;  yet  no  one, 
by  even  a  syllable,  denounced  the  perpetra- 
tors of  this  terrible  crime.  The  officials  were 
obliged  to  lay  the  responsibility  upon  the 
acknowledged  superintendents  of  the  art^l, 
the  starosta  and  his  assistant.  On  the  same 
day,  they  were  handcuffed  and  put  in  irons. 
Vasili,  who  at  that  time  was  known  by  another 
name,  was  the  assistant. 

Two  more  days  passed,  and  the  affair  had 
been  fully  discussed  by  the  convicts.  It  was 
supposed  at  first  that  all  traces  were  con- 
cealed;  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  dis- 
cover the  culprits ;  and  that  the  lawful  repre- 
sentatives of  the  artdl  would  only  be  subjected 
to  a  slight  disciplinary  punishment.  To  all 
questions  put  to  them,  the  convicts  had  but  one 
straightforward,  and  plausible  answer:  "We 
were  asleep."  But  oil  closer  investigation  the 
suspicion  fell  on  Vasili.  It  is  true  that  in 
such  cases  as  this  the  art^l  always  acts  in 
such  a  way  as  to  prove,  conclusively,  the  inno- 
cence of  the  accused  parties,  and  by  adopting 
such  a  course  Vasili  could  easily  have  shown 


106  ^   SAGIIALINIAN. 

that  lie  took  no  part  whatever  m  the  tragedy. 
Nevertheless,  while  discussing  the  affairs  of 
the  stdrosta's  assistant,  the  experienced  con- 
victs, who  had  been  through  fire  and  water, 
shook  their  heads  dubiously. 

"  I  say,  my  boy,"  said  an  old,  weather-beaten 
vagrant,  one  day,  to  Vasili,  "as  soon  as  we 
arrive  on  Saghalin,  you  had  better  have  your 
leg3  in  readiness.  It  is  a  bad  business,  that 
affair  of  yours  !  —  very  bad  !  " 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  ...  is  it  the  first,  or  the  second 
time  that  you  have  been  convicted  ?  " 

"  The  second." 

"  That's  the  trouble.  And  do  you  remember 
whom  the  dead  Feydka  reported?  Was  it  not 
you?  He  was  the  cause  of  your  being  hand- 
cuffed for  a  week,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"You  are  right." 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  him  at  the  time  ? 
The  soldiers  heard  it !  .  Was  it  not  something 
like  a  threat  ?  "       - 

Vasili  and  the  others  understood  the  full 
significance  of  this  remark. 

"Now,   my   advice   to   you   is  to  think  the 


A   SAGIIALINIAN,  107 

matter  over,  and  make  up  your  mind  to  be 
shot." 

A  general  murmur  followed  this  speech. 

"Don't  talk  like  an  idiot,  Buran!"  said  the 
convicts,  angrily. 

"The  old  man  does  not  know  what  he  is 
saying." 

"  He  is  losing  his  mind  from  old  age.  It  is 
a  poor  joke  to  talk  like  that." 

"  I  am  not  losing  my  mind  !  "  exclaimed  the 
old  man,  indignantly.  "  Much  you  greenhorns 
know  !  You  act  as  though  you  were  in  Russia ! 
—  I  know  the  local  laws !  I  tell  you,  Vasili, 
w^hen  the  report  is  sent  to  the  governor-gen- 
eral of  the  Amur  province,  you  may  expect  to 
be  shot.  Even  if,  as  a  great  mercy,  they  whip 
you  with  knouts,  instead  of  putting  you  to 
death,  that  will  be  still  worse.  You  will  not 
survive.  You  must  remember,  my  dear  fellow, 
that  you  are  on  board  ship,  and  that  naval  laws 
are  twice  as  strict  as  land  laws.  However,"  he 
added,  feebly,  evidently  fatigued  with  such  a 
long  discourse,  "I  don't  care  what  becomes  of 
you  all." 

The  dim  eyes  of  the  old  man,  with  whom  life 


108  -^   SAGHALINIAN. 

had  dealt  so  unkindly,  had  long  been  used  to 
look  at  things  through  a  medium  of  mingled 
gloom  and  indifference.  He  waved  his  hand 
despairingly,  and  walked  away. 

Often  among  such  bands  of  convicts  are  to 
be  found  men  fully  conversant  with  the  law; 
and  when,  after  a  careful  consideration  of  an 
affair  like  the  present  one,  a  definite  opinion  is 
formed,  it  is  generally  confirmed  by  coming 
events.  In  the  present  case,  all  the  authorities 
agreeing  with  Buran,  it  was  decided  that  Va- 
sili  must  escape  ;  and  as  it  seemed  likely  that 
he  was  to  be  held  responsible  for  the  art^l,  the 
latter  considered  itself  in  duty  bound  to  help 
him.  All  remnants  of  biscuits  and  rusks  were 
made  over  to  Vasili,  and  he  began  to  "form  a 
party  "  of  such  as  wished  to  participate  in  the 
attempt  to  escape. 

As  Buran  had  already  twice  escaped  from 
Saghdlin,  he  was  naturally  among  the  first  who 
were  asked  to  join.  The  old  man  decided  with- 
out hesitating  a  moment. 

"I  am  doomed  to  die  in  the  forest,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  don't  know  but  that  such  a 
death  is  more  becoming  for  a  vagrant.     Only, 


A  SAGHALINIAN,  109 

my  age  is  against  me ;  for  I  am  getting  worn 
out." 

The  old  man  blinked  a  moment,  then,  — 

"  Go  ahead  and  collect  your  party,"  he  added. 
''  It  would  be  useless  for  two  or  three  to  make 
such  an  attempt ;  the  road  is  too  rough.  When 
ten  of  us  are  ready,  we  can  start.  You  may 
depend  on  me  ;  I  will  walk  till  my  feet  refuse  to 
carry  me.  If  it  were  only  my  lot  to  die  any- 
where but  on  this  cursed  island !  " 

Bur^n  winked  rapidly,  and  tears  ran  down 
his  weather-beaten  face. 

"The  old  man  must  be  getting  feeble," 
thought  Vasili,  as  he  started  off  to  make  up 
the  party. 


IV. 

Rounding  the  precipitous  cape,  the  steamer 
entered  the  bay.  The  convicts  gathered  about 
the  hatchways,  and  with  feverish  curiosity 
watched  the  high  shores  of  the  island,  looming 
up  before  them  through  the  evening  twilight. 

At  nightfall  they  entered  the  port.  The  out- 
lines of  the  island  had  the  effect  of  drawing 


110  A   SAGHALINIAN, 

nearer  as  they  approaclied,  and  stood  out  more 
clearly  defined  in  their  black  grandeur.  The 
boat  stopped.  The  sailors  formed  in  line,  and 
the  convicts  were  led  out. 

On  shore,  in  the  darkness,  a  few  lights  were 
visible ;  the  water  splashed  against  the  beach, 
the  sky  was  overcast,  and  a  sympathetic  cloud 
of  sadness  weighed  on  all  hearts.  "This  is 
Fort  Doue,"  said  Burdn,  in  an  undertone. 
"Here  we  shall  have  to  live  in  barracks  at 
first." 

After  roll-call  the  party  was  conducted  on 
shore,  in  the  presence  of  the  local  officials. 
Having  lived  several  months  continuously  on 
board  ship,  now  the  convicts  once  more  walked 
on  solid  ground.  The  steamer  on  which  they 
had  spent  so  long  a  time  rocked  gently  in  the 
dusk,  softly  sighing  amid  clouds  of  white 
steam. 

Lights  were  moving  ahead,  and  voices  were 
heard. 

"Is  this  the  party?" 

"It  is." 

"  Show  them  the  way  to  barrack  No.  7." 

The  convicts  followed  the  light.     They  were 


A  SAGHALINIAN,  HI 

walking  in  a  disorderly  line,  and  were  surprised 
to  have  no  one  beside  them,  urging  them  on 
with  musket-butts. 

"  Say,  fellows,  there  is  no  escort  with  us !  " 
several  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 

"  Keep  still  !  "  angrily  growled  Burdn. 
"  What  need  is  there  for  an  escort !  There  is 
no  danger  that  you  will  run  away,  even  if  you 
are  not  guarded.  The  island  is  large,  and  sur- 
rounded by  water.  You  might  die  of  hunger 
anywhere.  Don't  you  hear  the  moaning  of 
the  sea  ?  " 

A  heavy  wind  was  rising.  The  lantern- 
lights  flickered  unsteadily  under  its  gusts,  and 
the  roar  of  the  sea  as  it  beat  on  the  shore 
sounded  like  the  raging  of  an  awakened  wild 
beast. 

"Don't  you  hear  it  roar?"  said  Burdn,  ad- 
dressing Vasili.  "Look  at  it,"  he  continued, 
"'Water  all  around  us,  and  trouble  ahead.' '^ 
You  will  have  to  cross  the  water  ;  and  think  of 
the  distance  before  you  come  to  the  crossing ! 
...  a  desert !  .  .  .  woods  and  military  out- 
posts !  .  .  .  I   have  a  foreboding  that  this  at- 

*  A  Russian  proverb.  —  Tr. 


112  A  SAGHALINIAN. 

tempt  will  not  end  well ;  —  the  sea  gives  us 
warning.  I  fear  that  I  shall  not  escape  from 
Saghdlin ;  indeed,  I  do !  Twice  already  have 
I  escaped.  The  first  time,  I  was  caught  in 
Blagovestchinsk,  and  the  second  time  in  Rus- 
sia ..  .  and  I  was  brought  here  again.  It 
must  be  my  fate  to  die  on  this  island." 

"All  may  turn  out  well,"  replied  Vasili, 
encouragingly. 

"You  are  a  young  man,  and  I  am  worn  out. 
How  angrily  and  mournfully  the  sea  roars ! " 

•  The  convicts  who  had  occupied  barrack  No. 
7  were  removed,  and  the  newly  arrived  party, 
temporarily  guarded,  was  installed  in  their 
place. 

Accustomed  to  strong  bolts  and  to  the  con- 
finement of  prison-life,  they  would  have  ram- 
bled over  the  island  like  sheep  let  loose  from 
their  enclosures,  had  they  not  been  thus  guarded 
at  first.  The  old  convicts,  who  had  already 
been  living  there  for  some  time,  were  not  locked 
up;  for,  becoming  gradually  familiar  with  the 
conditions  of  their  exile,  they  had  reached  the 
conclusion  that  an  attempt  to  escape  is  a  dan- 
gerous undertaking,  and  usually  means  certain 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  113 

death  to  those  who  attempt  it;  for  only  the 
most  resolute  and  determined  characters,  after 
long  and  careful  preparations,  try  this  experi- 
ment— and  such  as  they  might  be  shut  in  by 
ten  locks  and  yet  would  try  to  escape  either 
from  prison  or  from  out-of-door  labor. 

"Now,  Bur^n,  you  must  advise  us,"  said 
Vasili  to  him,  on  the  •third  day  after  their 
arrival.  "  You  are  our  leader,  and  you  will  liave 
to  go  ahead ;  so  give  us  our  orders.  I  suppose 
we  ouglit  to  be  getting  ready." 

"  Wliat  can  I  advise !  "  replied  the  old  man, 
reluctantly.  "  It  is  not  an  easy  undertaking, 
and  I  am  growing  old.  Well,"  after  a  pause, 
"  about  three  days  hence,  the  sentries  will  be 
witlidrawn,  and  we  shall  be  sent  out  to  work. 
Besides,  we  are  free  to  come  and  go  at  any 
time  ;  only,  one  is  not  allowed  to  carry  any 
bag.     That  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

"  Do  advise  us,  Buran,  my  good  fellow  ;  you 
know  what  is  best." 

Buran  looked  gloomy  and  careworn.  He 
rarely  spoke  to  any  one,  but  muttered  inces- 
santly to  himself.  It  seemed  as  if  this  old  va- 
grant, who  for  the  third  time  had  been  brought 


114  A   SAGHALINIAN, 

back  to  the  same  place,  was  now  losing  his 
energy. 

However,  Vasili  had  in  the  meantime  suc- 
ceeded in  securing  ten  more  able-bodied  men, 
and  was  teasing  Buran,  in  the  hope  of  rousing 
him  and  of  awakening  his  ardor.  In  this  he 
sometimes  succeeded,  but  eventually  the  old 
man  always  reverted  to  the  difficulties  of  the 
road  and  bad  omens.  "I  shall  never  escape 
from  this  island,"  he  said,  repeatedly,  a  sentence 
which  expressed  the  depression  of  the  unsuc- 
cessful vagrant.  Nevertheless,  in  his  brighter 
moods,  the  recollection  of  former  attempts 
cheered  him,  and  in  the  evening,  when  lying 
in  his  bunk  beside  Vasili,  he  would  talk  to  him 
about  the  island  and  the  roads  that  they  in- 
tended to  follow. 

Fort  Done  lies  on  the  western  side  of  the 
island,  facing  the  Asiatic  shore.  The  Tartar 
Straits  at  this  place  are  about  three  hundred 
versts  in  width ;  to  attempt  to  cross  in  an  open 
boat  would  be  out  of  the  question,  and  the 
vagrants  naturally  follow  either  this  or  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  island. 

"  If  you  are  anxious  to  die,  you  can  go  any- 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  115 

where  you  like,"  Buran  was  in  the  habit  of 
saying ;  "  tlie  island  is  large,  a  wilderness  and 
a  forest.  Even  the  native  Ghil4ks,  who  are 
well  used  to  it,  find  few  places  where  they  can 
settle.  If  you  go  east,  you  run  the  risk  of 
losing  your  way  among  the  rocks,  or  of  being 
pecked  to  death  by  hungry  birds,  or,  if  you 
live,  you  will  probably  go  back  of  your  own 
accord,  when  winter  comes.  If  you  go  south, 
you  will  reach  the  end  of  the  island  and  come 
to  the  ocean,  which  can  only  be  crossed  in  a 
ship.  There  is  but  one  road  for  us  to  follow, 
and  that  is  to  the  north,  skirting  the  shore  for 
the  entire  distance.  The  sea  will  be  our  guide. 
After  travelling  some  three  hundred  versts, 
we  shall  come  to  narrow  straits,  and  it  is  there 
that  we  must  cross  in  boats  to  the  Amur  shore. 
Only,  let  me  tell  you,  my  boy,"  here  Burdn  fell 
into  his  usual  doleful  strain,  "  we  shall  have 
trouble  in  passing  the  military  outposts.  The 
first  one  is  called  Varki,  the  second  Panghi, 
and  the  last  one  P6ghib,*  called  so  because  it 
is  usually  here  that  we  perish.  And  dear  me  ! 
how    cunningly    these    outposts    are    placed! 

♦Peril.— Tb. 


116  A   SAGIIALINIAN. 

Wherever  a  hillock  rises,  behind  it  you  find  an 
outpost.  You  are  marching  along,  and  stumble 
upon  it  without  warning.  The  Lord  have 
mercy  on  us  !  " 

"But  you  have  already  been  twice  over  the 
ground! " 

"That  is  true."  And  the  dull  eyes  of  the 
old  man  kindled.  "  Listen  to  what  I  say,  and 
do  as  I  bid  you.  Shortly  they  will  call  on 
those  who  wish  to  volunteer  as  workmen  in 
the  mill.  Have  your  names  put  down  on  the 
list;  and  when  they  are  sending  the  provisions 
thither,  put  your  rusks  and  biscuits  in  the  cart. 
Peter,  a  former  convict,  has  charge  of  the  mill. 
Then  will  be  the  time  for  you  to  escape,  —  I 
mean,  when  you  get  to  the  mill.  You  will  not 
be  missed  for  three  days.  That  is  the  way 
things  are  managed  here.  You  can  miss  the 
roll-call  for  three  days  before  any  notice  is 
taken  of  it.  The  doctor  objects  to  corporal 
punishment,  because  the  hospital  is  in  such  a 
wretched  condition.  If  any  one  gets  tired  out 
and  becomes  ill  from  working,  he  goes  into  the 
woods  instead  of  going  to  the  hospital,  and 
often  recovers  in  the  open  air.     But  if  he  does 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  117 

not  put  in  an  appearance  on  the  third  day,  he 
is    considered  missing;   and  were  he  to   come 
back    of   his   own  accord,    it   would   make  no - 
difference  —  he  might  as  well  make  up  liis  mind, 
at  once,  to  be  flogged." 

"At  any  rate,  I  hope  we  shall  escape  the  flog- 
ging," replied  Vasili ;  "if  we  succeed  in  getting 
away,  we  will  not  return  of  our  own  accord." 

"And  if  you  don't,"  growled  Buran,  "it 
will  be  all  the  same ;  it  will  end  in  the  crows 
devouring  your  carcass,  as  it  lies  not  far  from 
one  of  the  outposts.  The  soldiers  have  no 
time  to  fool  away  for  your  sake;  they  won't 
escort  you  back  hundreds  of  versts.  Wher- 
ever they  see  you,  they  will  shoot  you  down, 
and  there  is  the  end  of  it." 

"  Stop  croaking,  you  old  raven  !  Remember, 
we  start  to-morrow.  Tell  Bobr6f  what  we 
need,  and  tlie  art^l  will  supply  us." 

The  old  man  mumbled  some  reply,  and  left 
him  with  downcast  head,  while  Vasili  went  to 
his  comrades  and  bade  them  get  ready.  He 
had  given  up  the  duties  of  starosta's  assistant 
some  time  before,  and  another  man  had  been 
chosen  in  his  place.     The  fugitives  packed  their 


118  A  SAGHALINIAN, 

bags,  exchanged  their  clothes  for  the  strongest 
that  could  be  found,  and  the  next  day  volun- 
teered to  work  on  the  mill.  That  very  day 
they  all  left  work,  and  lud  themselves  in  the 
woods.     Burdn  alone  was  not  among  them. 

It  was  a  well  selected  party.  Among  Vasili's 
comrades  were  a  personal  friend  of  his,  called 
Voloydka  Makdrof,  a  strong  and  agile  man, 
who  had  already  escaped  twice  from  Kara ;  two 
Circassians,  determined  fellows,  and  invaluable 
as  faithful  comrades ;  and  a  Tartar,  a  great 
rogue,  but  skilful  and  ingenious.  The  rest 
were  also  vagrants,  who  had  more  than  once 
wandered  through  Siberia. 

Already  the  fugitives  had  been  one  day  in 
the  woods;  .  .  .  the  night  had  passed,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  following  day;  still  no 
Burdn.  The  Tartar  was  sent  to  the  barracks 
to  look  him  up.  On  arriving,  he  secretly  called 
out  an  old  convict,  Bobiof,  a  friend  of  Vasili's, 
a  man  who  had  great  influence  among  his  com- 
rades. The  next  morning,  Bobrof  came  to  the 
spot  where  the  fugitives  were  concealed. 

"Well,  comrades,  how  can  I  help  you?  " 

"  Send   Burdn   to   us  at  once.     We   cannot 


A  SAGIIALINIAN.  119 

start  without  hiin  ;  and  if  lie  is  waiting  because 
lie  needs  something,  help  him  to  get  it.  We 
are  all  waiting  for  him." 

When  Bobr6f  returned  to  the  barracks,  he 
saw  that  Buran  had  made  no  preparations 
whatever  for  starting.  He  found  him  walking 
restlessly  about  the  barracks,  talking  to  himself, 
and  gesticulating  wildly. 

"What  are  you  about,  Burdn?"  he  called 
out  to  him. 

"  Why,  what  is  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  How,  what  is  that  to  me  ?  Why  are  you 
not  getting  ready  ?  " 

"  I  am  getting  ready  for  my  grave ;  that  is 
what  I  am  getting  ready  for." 

This  answer  provoked  Bobr6f. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Don't  you  know 
that  the  boys  have  already  been  three  days 
in  the  bushes?  Do  you  want  to  get  them 
whipped?  And  you-  call  yourself  an  old 
vagrant  I " 

These  reproaches  touched  the  old  man  to 
the  quick. 

"  My  time  has  gone  by.  I  shall  never  escape 
from  this  island.  ...   I  am  worn  out!" 


120  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

"  Whether  you  are  worn  out  or  not,  that  4s 
your  own  affair.  Supposing  you  do  not  reach 
the  end  of  your  journey  in  safety,  supposing 
you  die  on  the  way,  you  will  not  be  blamed  for 
that;  but  what  if  through  any  fault  of  yours 
eleven  men  were  to  be  whipped?  You  see,  the 
responsibility  resting  on  you  obliges  you  to  go. 
If  I  should  report  this  to  the  artel,  what  do 
you  think  they  would  do  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  all,"  replied  Buran  ;  "  they  would 
'cover'  me,  and  I  should  deserve  it.  It  is 
not  becoming  for  an  old  vagrant  to  die 
such  a  death.  It  seems  as  though  it  were 
my  fate  to  go.  Only,  I  have  made  no  prepa- 
rations." 

"  We  will  get  you  ready  at  once.  What  do 
you  want  ? " 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  want  twelve  good 
new  coats." 

"  But  every  man  has  a  coat  of  his  own  ! " 

"You  mind  what  I  say!"  replied  Buran,  with 
a  show  of  temper.  "I  know  that  they  have 
one  apiece  ;  but  they  need  two.  Each  one  will 
have  to  give  the  Ghilaks  a  coat  for  ferrjdng 
him    across.     Besides,    I    want     twelve    good 


A   SAGIIALINIAN,  121 

knives,  about  three-quarters  of  an  arshin* 
long,  two  hatchets,  and  three  kettles." 

Bobr6f  called  a  meeting  of  the  artel,  and 
stated  the  case.  Whoever  had  a  good  coat 
gave  it  to  the  vagrants.  Every  convict  has  an 
instinctive  sympathy  with  each  daring  attempt 
to  escape  from  their  four  prison-walls.  Knives 
and  kettles  were  furnished,  some  being  bought, 
and  some  given  by  the  convict  settlers.  In  two 
days  everything  was  ready.  Thirteen  days  had 
already  passed  since  the  arrival  of  the  party  on 
the  island,  and  the  following  morning  Bobr6f 
accompanied  Burdn  to  the  hiding-place  of  the 
convicts,  assisting  him  to  carry  the  provisions. 

In  accordance  with  an  old  convict  regulation, 
the  men  "stood  up  for  prayers,"  something 
like  a  Te  Deum  was  read  for  the  occasion,  and, 
bidding  good-by  to  Bobrof,  they  started  on 
their  journey. 


"  How  you  must  have  enjoyed  starting ! "  I 
exclaimed,  observing  the  animated  expression 
and  the  cheerful  voice  of  the  narrator. 
*  About  three-quarters  of  a  yard. 


122  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

"  Indeed,  we  did !  As  we  left  the  bushes 
and  entered  the  woods,  it  seemed  as  though  we 
had  been  born  anew.  We  were  very  happy^ 
Buran,  alone,  with  downcast  head,  was  march- 
ing in  advance,  muttering  something  to  him- 
self. He  did  not  start  in  a  cheerful  mood ;  he 
may  have  felt  that  he  had  not  far  to  go.  We 
soon  perceived  that  our  leader  was  not  to  be 
relied  on,  although  he  was  an  experienced 
vagrant,  having  twice  escaped  from  Sagh41in, 
and  was  familiar  with  the  road,  walking  along 
without  hesitation  like  a  dog  following  a  trail, 
still  my  friend  Voloydka  and  myself  mistrusted 
him. 

"'Look  out,'  he  said  to  me,  'lest  we  get  into 
trouble  with  Burdn.  Can't  you  see  that  he 
does  not  act  like  himself ! ' 

"  '  What  makes  you  think  so  ? '    I  said. 

" '  Something  must  be  the  matter  with  him. 
He  talks  to  himself,  shaking  his  head  now  and 
then,  and  has  given  us  no  orders.  We  ought 
to  have  halted  long  before  this ;  but  on  he 
walks,  regardless  of  us.  I  tell  you  he  is  not  as 
he  should  be.' 

"  Feeling  sure  that  something  was  wrong,  we 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  123 

made  haste  to  overtake  him,  exclaiming  as  we 
came  up :  — 

"'Uncle! — I  say,  uncle!  Why  don't  we 
halt  ?     Isn't  it  time  to  rest  awhile  ?  ' 

*'He  turned,  looked  at  us,  then  went  on 
again. 

" '  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  rest ;  the 
bullets  will  give  you  time  for  that  at  Vdrki 
or  at  Poghib,  and  it  will  be  a  thorough  rest 
too.' 

"  '  The  deuce  take  you  ! '  we  thought  to  our- 
selves ;  but  we  did  not  venture  to  oppose  him, 
for  he  was  an  old  vagrant,  and  it  Avas  very  pos- 
sible that  we  were  in  the  wrong.  It  would  per- 
haps be  wiser  to  travel  as  far  as  we  could  the 
first  day. 

"After  walking  for  some  time,  Vol6ydka 
nudged  me  again. 

"  '  I  say,  Vasili,  we  had  better  be  on  the  look- 
out!' 

"  '  Why,  what's  the  matter  now  ? ' 

" '  When  we  started,  we  were  twenty  versts 
from  Vdrki ;  we  have  surely  travelled  eighteen, 
and  we  must  take  care  not  to  stumble  on  an 
outpost.' 


124  -4   SAGHALINIAN. 

"  '  Burdn  !  —  I  say,  Buraii !  uncle  ! '  he  called 
out. 

'' '  What  do  you  want  ?  ' 

"^Varki  can't  be  far  off.' 

" '  We  are  nowhere  near  it,'  replied  Burd-n, 
and  off  he  started  again. 

"  A  catastrophe  was  close  at  hand,  but,  luckily 
for  us,  we  spied  a  small  boat  moored  in  the 
river,  close  to  the  shore.  As  soon  as  we  saw 
it,  we  all  stopped.  Mak^rof  had  to  hold  Burdn 
by  main  force.  If  a  boat  were  there,  surely 
there  must  be  a  dwelling  not  far  away.  '  Halt, 
boys,  and  hide  in  the  bushes  ! ' 

"  Following  the  course  of  the  stream,  we  en- 
tered the  woods.  Hills  covered  with  birches 
rose  on  either  side. 

"  From  early  spring  the  island  is  veiled 
in  fog,  and  on  this  day,  as  usual,  a  thick 
mist  enveloped  it.  As  we  climbed  the  hill, 
a  breeze  sprang  up  and  drove  the  fog  into 
the  sea. 

"  Suddenly,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  we  dis- 
covered the  outpost,  almost  directly  at  our  feet. 
Dogs  were  sleeping  in  the  yard,  and  soldiers 
walking  about.     We  were  indeed  dismayed,  for 


A   SAGIIALINIAN,  125 

we  had  barely  escaped  the  very  jaws  of  the 
wolf. 

"  '  How  is  this,  uncle  Burdn  ! '  we  said ;  '  see 
the  outpost  down  there  ?  ' 

'*'Sure  enough,  it  is!  this  is  Varki,'  he  re- 
plied. 

" '  See  here,  uncle  I '  we  said,  '  you  mustn't  be 
vexed,  but  we  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that,  even  tliough  you  are  our  senior,  we  must 
look  out  for  ourselves  ;  we  fear  we  may  get 
into  trouble  if  we  follow  your  directions.' 

"  The  old  man  wepL 

u  4  Forgive  me,  comrades,  for  Christ's  sake  !  — 
I  am  old,'  he  said.  '  Forty  years  I  have  been 
on  the  tramp,  and  am  worn  out ;  my  memory 
fails  me.  I  remember  some  things,  and  I  for- 
get others.  Don't  be  too  hard  on  me  !  We 
must  make  haste  and  leave  this  place  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  if  somebody  from  the  outpost  hap- 
pened to  go  berrying,  or  the  dogs  were  to  get 
on  our  scent,  all  would  be  lost ! ' 

"  We  started  forward,  discussing  this  matter 
as  we  went  along,  and  decided  to  watch  Bur4n. 
I  was  chosen  leader,  to  determine  the  time  and 
place  for  halting  and  to  make  all  necessary  ar- 


126  ^   SAGUALINIAN, 

rangements.  Buraii  was  still  to  walk  ahead, 
for  he  alone  knew  the  way.  His  feet  were 
tough  ;  faint  as  he  often  grew  with  fatigue,  they 
never  failed  him,  as  he  went  waddling  along. 
And  thus  he  walked  till  he  drew  his  last 
breath. 

"  We  followed  the  highlands,  a  safer  although 
more  difficult  course.  On  the  hills  the  woods 
rustled  and  the  streams  ran  playfully  over  their 
rocky  beds.  The  Ghilak  aborigines  live  in  the 
valleys,  by  the  river-banks,  or  by  the  sea-side, 
because  they  feed  on  fish,  of  which  there  is  so 
great  a  quantity  that  one  who  has  not  seen  for 
himself  could  hardly  believe  the  accounts — we 
used  to  catch  them  with  our  hands. 

"  Thus  we  cautiously  advanced,  sniffing  the 
air  as  we  walked  along.  Wherever  we  deemed 
it  safe,  we  came  down  to  the  sea-shore  or  to  the 
bank  of  some  river  ;  but  if  there  was  the  slight- 
est suspicion  of  danger,  we  ascended  to  the 
highlands  at  once,  carefully  avoiding  the  out- 
posts, which  are  stationed  at  irregular  intervals. 
In  some  places  they  are  posted  fifteen  and  in 
others  perhaps  fifty  versts  apart.  So  irregular 
were  the  intervals,  it  was  impossible  to  divine 


A  SAGHALINIAN,  127 

their  location.  But  the  Lord  was  merciful  to 
us ;  and  we  escaped  all  of  them,  until  we  came 
to  the  very  last  one." 


VI. 

Here  the  narrator  frowned,  and  relapsed  into 
silence.     After  a  while  he  rose. 

"  But  how  did  it  end  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  my  horse  must  be  dry 
by  this  time.  ...  I  must  unfasten  him." 

We  went  out  into  the  yard.  The  frost  had 
diminished,  and  the  fog  was  lifted.  The  vagrant 
looked  at  the  sky. 

"  It  must  be  after  midnight,"  he  said,  gazing 
at  the  stars.  Divested  of  the  veil  of  fog,  tlie 
yourts  of  the  neighboring  settlement  had  now 
become  plainly  visible.  The  village  was  sleep- 
ing. White  columns  of  smoke  rose  leisurely 
and  indolently  into  the  air  ;  only  now  and  then 
from  some  chimney  a  shower  of  sparks  sud- 
denly flew  up,  madly  leaping  in  the  frosty  air. 
The  Yakuts  keep  their  fires  going  all  night,  for 
the  heat  escapes  quickly  from  their  short,  open 
chimneys,  and  it  is  the  habit  of  each  person 


128  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

who  cliaiices  to  wake,  made  restless  perhaps  ly 
the  cold,  to  throw  on  fresh  logs. 

The  vagrant  remained  silent  for  some  time, 
gazing  at  the  village. 

"  This  reminds  me  of  our  villages,"  he  said, 
with  a  sigh.  "  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have 
seen  one.  The  Yakuts  in  their  districts  live 
apart,  like  wild  beasts.  ...  I  wish  I  could 
move  to  this  part  of  the  country.  I  might 
perhaps  endure  life  here." 

"  Can't  you  endure  it  in  your  own  district  ? 
You  have  a  farm  there,  I  think.  You  said,  just 
now,  that  you  were  satisfied  with  your  life." 

For  some  time  he  made  no  reply. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it !  I  wish  I  might  never 
see  this  country  again  !  " 

He  went  up  to  his  horse,  felt  of  his  neck, 
and  patted  him.  The  intelligent  animal  turned 
his  head  and  neighed. 

"  All  right,  all  right !  "  said  Vasili,  caress- 
ingly ;  "  you  may  go  now.  ...  I  intend  racing 
with  the  Tartars,"  he  continued  ;  "  he  is  a  good 
horse.  I  have  trained  him  so  that  he  can 
compete  with  any  of  them.  He  goes  like  the 
wind." 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  129 

He  took  off  the  bridle,  and  the  horse  trotted 
off  to  the  hay.     We  returned  to  the  yourt. 

Vasili's  face  was  still  gloomy.  He  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  or  perhaps  was  unwilling  to 
continue  his  story ;  but  I  reminded  him 
of  it,  saying  that  I  was  anxious  to  hear  the 
end. 

"  There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  he  replied, 
reluctantly,  "  and  what  is  the  use  ?  It  is  a 
sad  story ;  but,  as  I  began  it,  I  suppose  I  may 
as- well  finish  it.  .  .  .  We  travelled  in  this  way 
twelve  days  longer,  and  still  we  had  not 
reached  the  end  of  Saghalin,  whereas  we  ought 
to  have  crossed  to  the  Amur  by  the  eighth 
day,  and  all  this  was  due  to  lack  of  confidence 
in  our  leader.  Instead  of  going  by  the  easier 
way  wherever  it  were  possible,  we  travelled 
across  the  highlands,  sometimes  through 
ravines,  sometimes  plunging  into  the  depths 
of  forests,  now  crossing  barren  spots,  now 
forcing  our  way  through  thickets.  ._,/  .  It  was 
slow  work.  Our  provisions  were  nearly  ex- 
hausted, for  we  had  only  taken  food  enough 
to  last  twelve  days.  .  .  .  We  had  to  cut  down 
our  rations.     The  supply  of  biscuits  grew  short, 


130  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

and  every  one  had  in  a  measure  to  provide  for 
himself.  Berries,  however,  were  plenty,  and 
finally  we  reached  an  estuary  of  the  sea.  The 
water  was  naturally  salt;  but  when,  at  times, 
the  flow  of  the  Amur  rushed  in  greater  volume 
than  usual,  it  became  fresh.  Well,  now  we  had 
to  think  of  providing  boats  to  cross  to  the 
Amur  side.  We  were  anxiously  talking  over 
our  plans,  and  wanted  Bur4n  to  advise  us. 
The  old  man  had  weakened  perceptibly ;  .  .  . 
his  eyes  had  grown  dim,  day  by  day  he  lost 
flesh,  and  we  could  get  no  advice  from  him, 
'  Get  the  boats  from  the  Ghil4ks,'  he  said ;  but 
where  to  find  the  Ghildks,  or  how  to  obtain  the 
boats,  he  seemed  unable  to  tell.  So  Vol6ydka 
and  I  said  to  the  boys :  '  You  had  better 
remain  here,  and  we  will  follow  the  shore,  and 
may  possibly  chance  to  fall  in  with  some  of  the 
natives  and  to  obtain  one  or  two  boats.  In  the 
meantime,  be  on  your  guard,  for  there  must  be 
an  outpost  somewhere  near  by.' 

"Most  of  the  boys  remained  behind,  while 
three  of  us,  following  the  shore,  went  on. 
After  a  while  we  came  out  upon  a  cliff  that 
overhung  the  river,  on  the  banks  of  which  we 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  131 

saw  a  Ghildk  mending  his  sails.  God  must 
have  sent  Orkun  to  us." 

"  What  djpes  '  Orkun '  mean  ?  Was  that  his 
name  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"I  am  sure,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Vasfli. 
"  It  may  have  been  his  name,  but  I  think  that 
in  the  Ghildk  language  it  means  *starosta'  —  I 
am  not  positive.  I  only  know  that,  as  we 
approached  him  cautiously  lest  he  might  run 
away,  he  pointed  to  himself,  repeating :  '  Orkun, 
Orktin ' ;  but  what  '  Orkun '  meant,  we  did  not 
understand.  However,  we  spoke  to  him. 
Voldydka  took  a  stick  and  drew  a  boat  on  the 
sand,  as  much  as  to  say,  'This  is  what  we  need.' 
The  Ghildk  understood  him  at  once;  he 
nodded,  and  raised  his  fingers  —  two  at  first, 
then  five,  then  the  whole  ten.  For  a  long  time 
we  could  not  understand  what  he  meant ;  but 
at  last  Makd,rof  guessed. 

'' '  He  wants  to  know  how  many  there  are  of 
us,  and  what  kind  of  boat  we  need  ?  ' 

" '  Oh,  yes !  of  course,  that  is  what  he 
means ! '  and  we  made  signs  to  the  Ghildk  that 
there  were  twelve  of  us.  He  nodded  again,  so 
as  to  let  us  know  that  he  understood  that  also. 


■'\  Q  R  A  F?  7^ 
^  E 

SITY 


132  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

Then  he  asked  us  to  take  him  to  the  rest  of 
our  party.  We  hesitated ;  —  and  yet  what  was 
there  to  be  done  ?  We  could  not  cross  the  sea 
on  foot,  so  we  carried  him  back  with  us. 

"  Our  comrades  blamed  us.  '  Why  did  you 
bring  this  Ghildk  here?  Do  you  want  to 
betray  us  ?  '  But  what  could  we  have  done  ? 
'Keep  still!'  we  replied;  'we  are  managing  this 
business ! '  Meanwhile,  the  Ghildk  was  walking 
calmly  about,  examining  our  coats.  We  gave 
him  all  the  extra  ones,  which  he  strapped  up, 
and,  shouldering  them,  started  on  his  way,  and 
we,  as  a  matter  of  course,  followed  him.  A 
few  Ghilak  yourts  stood  below,  forming  a  sort 
of  settlement. 

"'What  are  we  to  do  now,  boys?  He  has 
gone  to  the  village  to  call  out  the  inhabitants.' 

'"What  of  that ! '  we  said.  '  There  are  but 
four  yourts  in  all ;  how  many  people  can  there 
be,  do  you  suppose  !  There  are  twelve  of  us, 
and  our  knives  are  three-quarters  of  an  arshm 
long  .  .  .  besides,  the  Ghilaks  are  not  equal  to 
Russians  in  strength.  Tliey  live  on  fish,  and 
we  live  on  bread.  How  much  strength  can  any 
one  gain  living  on  such  food !     They  are  not 


A   SAGUALINIAN,  133 

to  be  compared  with  us  ! '  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  too  was  somewhat  alarmed  lest  misfor- 
tune should  befall  us.  I  thought  to  myself,  'We 
have  reached  the  end  of  Saghalin  ;  will  it  ever 
be  our  luck  to  cross  to  the  Amur  side,  looming 
up  with  its  blue  mountains  in  the  distance?  If 
only  it  were  possible  to  become  a  bird  and  fly 
across  !  But  "  though  the  elbow  is  near,  one 
cannot  bite  it.'"  * 

"After  we  had  waited  for  some  time,  we  saw 
a  party  of  Ghilaks  coming  toward  us,  with 
Orkun  at  the  head;  all  were  armed  with  spears. 
'You  see,'  said  the  boys,  'the  Ghil4ks  are  com- 
ing to  fight.'  —  'Well,  let  them  come.  Get 
your  knives  ready,  boys,  and  don't  let  your- 
selves be  taken  without  a  struggle.  Stand  on 
your  guard  !  Not  a  man  must  be  taken  alive  ! 
If  one  is  to  be  killed,  it  cannot  be  helped,  — • 
that's  his  fate  ;  but  stand  up  and  defend  your- 
selves as  long  as  you  have  breath  in  your  body  ! 
Let  us  escape  or  perish  together !  Make  a  bold 
stand,  boys ! ' 

"We  suspected  the  Ghilaks  without  any 
cause.     When  Orkun    saw  that  we  were   pre- 

*  Russian  proverb.  —  Tn. 


134  ^   SAGHALINIAN, 

paring  to  defend  ourselves  against  an  attack, 
he  disarmed  his  people,  giving  all  the  spears 
to  one  man,  and  thus  approached  us.  When 
we  became  convinced  that  the  Ghilaks  were 
dealing  honorably  with  us,  we  went  with  them 
to  the  spot  where  their  boats  were  hauled  up, 
ready  for  us.  There  were  two  of  them,  of  dif- 
ferent sizes.  The  larger  boat  would  hold  eight, 
and  the  rest  of  the  party  were  to  go  in  a  small 
one. 

"The  boats  were  ours;  but  we  could  not 
cross  at  present,  for  the  wind  had  sprung  up 
from  the  direction  of  the  Amur,  and  large 
waves  were  dashing  on  our  shore.  In  rough 
weather  it  would  be  impossible  to  cross  in  such 
boats,  and  we  therefore  were  obliged  to  remain 
on  shore  two  days  longer. 

"Meanwhile,  the  provisions  gave  out,  and, 
beside  the  fish  that  Orkiin  had  kindly  given  us, 
we  had  nothing  but  berries  to  keep  us  alive. 
This  lasted  us  four  days.  A  worthy  and  honest 
Ghilak  was  Orktin  ;  I  often  think  of  him  now, 
God  bless  him ! 

"Another  day  passed,  and  still  the  wind  pre- 
vented us  from  starting.     It  was  a  great  disap- 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  135 

pointment.  The  night  wore  away,  and  yet  the 
wind  had  not  abated ;  it  was  hard  to  bear  ! 
During  these  four  windy  days  the  Amur  shore 
stood  out  clearer  than  ever,  for  the  fog  had 
entirely  disappeared.  All  this  time,  Burdu 
remained  seated  on  a  rock,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  opposite  shore.  He  neither  spoke  nor  did 
he,  like  the  others,  go  in  search  of  berries. 
Whenever  one  of  us,  taking  pity  on  him, 
brought  him  berries,  he  ate  them,  but  would 
not  take  the  trouble  to  get  them  for  himself. 
It  may  have  been  that  the  heart  of  the  old 
man  was  sick  with  longing,  or  perhaps  he  was 
conscious  of  the  approach  of  death. 

"Finally,  our  patience  was  exhausted,  and 
we  made  up  our  minds  that  when  night  came 
on  we  would  start.  Not  daring  to  run  the 
risk  in  the  daytime,  lest  the  soldiers  from 
the  outpost  should  perceive  us,  we  thought 
we  might  venture  by  night  with  less  risk 
of  detection,  hoping,  by  God's  help,  to  cross 
in  safety. 

"In  the  straits,  the  wind  blew  as  hard  as 
ever ;  white-caps  danced  here  and  there,  and 
the   sea-gulls   shrieked  like  evil  spirits.     The 


136  ^   SAGIIALINIAN. 

rocky  shore  groaned  as  the  sea  dashed  madly 
against  it. 

"•'Let  us  lie  down  and  sleep,  boys,'  I  said; 
'  the  moon  rises  at  midnight,  and  then,  by  God's 
help,  we  will  start ;  that  will  be  no  time  to  rest, 
and  we  shall  need  all  our  strength  for  the 
journey.' 

"  They  heeded  my  advice,  and  all  threw 
themselves  on  the  ground.  We  had  selected 
a  place  on  the  shore,  near  the  cliffs,  where  we 
could  not  be  seen  from  below,  —  trees  conceal- 
ing us.  Buran  alone  did  not  fall  asleep,  —  he 
sat  watching  the  west.  When  we  lay  down 
the  sun  was  still  high  above  the  horizon,  and 
it  was  quite  early  in  the  evening. 

"  I  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  listened  for  a 
whrle  to  the  wind  whistling  through  the  forest, 
then  dropped  asleep.  We  were  off  our  guard, 
unconscious  that  misfortune  was  about  to  be- 
fall us. 

"How  long  we  slept,  I  cannot  say.  All  at 
once  I  heard  Buran  calling  me.  I  awoke  and 
saw  that  the  sun  was  about  to  set,  and  that 
the  sea  had  grown  calm.  Burdn,  with  widely 
dilated  eyes,  was  standing  beside  me. 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  137 

" '  Get  up ;  they  have  come  after  our  souls 
already  .  .  .'  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the 
bushes. 

"  I  started,  and  in  the  direction  towards 
which  he  was  pointing  I  saw  the  soldiers,  the 
nearest  one  aiming  at  us,  another  following 
him ;  while  three  more  were  running  down  the 
hill,  pointing  their  guns  at  us.  I  was  wide- 
awake in  a  moment,  and  called  to  the  boys. 
They  too  woke,  and  sprang  instantly  to  their 
feet.  The  nearest  soldier  was  the  only  one 
who  had  time  to  fire  before  we  were  upon 
them." 

A  suppressed  emotion  choked  Vasili's  voice  ; 
he  hung  his  head.  A  partial  darkness  envel- 
oped the  yourt,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  throw 
in  fresh  logs. 

''I  ought  not  to  have  told  this  story,"  he 
said. 

"Why  not?  But  you  must  finish  it,  now 
that  you  have  begun  ! " 

"  Well,  there  is  not  much  to  tell ;  you  can 
easily  guess  the  rest.  There  were  but  five 
of  them,  and  we  were  twelve.  Besides,  they 
expected  to  catch  us  asleep,  and  shoot  us  down 


138  ^   SAGIIALINIAN, 

like  woodcocks ;  instead  of  that,  we  hardly 
gave  them  time  to  combine  their  forces  or  to 
decide  what  they  ought  to  do.  .  .  .  Yon  know, 
we  had  long  knives.  .  .  .  They  fired  one  hasty 
volley,  and  missed.  .  .  .  Then,  as  they  had 
started  down  the  hill,  they  were  unable  to 
stop.  Would  you  believe  it ! "  he  continued,  in 
a  mournful  voice,  lifting  his  sad  eyes,  "they 
did  not  even  know  how  to  defend  themselves 
—  beating  the  air  with  their  bayonets,  as  if 
defending  themselves  from  a  pack  of  hounds, 
while  we  beset  them  like  a  pack  of  wolves  ! 
...  One  soldier  grazed  my  leg  with  his  bayo- 
net ;  I  stumbled  and  fell,  and  he  over  me, 
Makdrof  falling  on  us  both.  We  got  up, — 
Makdrof  and  I,  —  but  the  soldier  remained 
where  he  fell. 

"As  I  rose,  I  saw  that  the  last  two  men  had 
run  up  the  hill.  Their  officer,  Saltdnof,  was 
a  brave  and  fearless  fellow,  whose  fame  had 
spread  far  and  wide.  Even  the  Ghilaks  feared 
him  as  they  did  the  Evil  Spirit,  and  many  con- 
victs had  been  killed  by  his  hand. 

"  There  were  two  Circassians  among  us  — 
daring  fellows,  and   as    agile  as   cats.     One  of 


A   SAGUALINIAN.  139 

them  threw  himself  on  Saltauof.  They  had 
met  half-way  up  the  hill.  Saltauof  fired  his  re- 
volver at  him  ;  the  Circassian  ducked,  and  both 
fell  to  the  ground.  The  other  Circassian, 
thinking  that  his  friend  had  been  killed,  threw 
himself  on  Saltdnof,  and  we  had  not  time  to 
breathe  before,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he 
had  severed  Saltan  of  s  head  with  his  knife. 

"  He  jumped  on  his  feet,  .  .  .  grinned,  .  .  . 
and  held  the  head  in  the  air.  .  .  .  We  were 
struck  dumb.  .  .  .  Shrieking  something  in  his 
own  language,  he  swung  the  head  around,  and 
tossed  it  up.  ...  It  flew  high  above  the  trees, 
and  disappeared  behind  the  cliff.  .  .  .  We 
were  awe-stricken.  .  .  .  We  heard  the  splash 
as  it  fell  into  the  sea. 

"  The  last  soldier  had  paused  on  the  hill ;  we 
saw  him  throwing  away  his  musket,  and  cover- 
ing his  face  with  his  hands  as  he  ran  away. 
We  did  not  pursue'  him,  thinking,  'Escape, 
poor  soul,  if  you  can.'  He  was  the  only  sur- 
viving man  on  the  outpost.  There  had  been 
twenty  of  them,  but  thirteen  had  gone  over  to 
the  Amur  side,  where  the  high  wind  had  de- 
tained them ;  and  the  remaining  six  were  killed. 


140  ^    SAGHALINIAN. 

"  All  was  over,  and  yet  we  were  frightened. 
Glancing  at  each  other,  we  could  not  at  once 
realize  whether  it  had  been  a  dream  or  a  real- 
ity. Just  then  we  heard  some  one  groaning 
behind  us,  and  under  the  trees,  on  the  very 
spot  where  we  had  been  sleeping,  sat  Baran, 
moaning.  He  had  been  shot  by  the  first 
soldier,  but  did  not  die  till  the  sun  had 
set  behind  the  hill.  We  were  inexpressibly 
grieved. 

"We  went  to  him  and  found  him  sitting 
under  a  cedar-tree;  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  and,  pressing  his  hands  to  his  chest,  he 
beckoned  to  me. 

"'Let  the  boys  dig  a  grave  for  me,'  he  said. 
'You  cannot  start  before  night,  at  any  rate,  on 
account  of  the  danger  of  meeting  the  rest  of 
the  soldiers  in  the  straits.  Bury  me  here,  for 
Christ's  sake ! ' 

" '  Hush,  hush,  uncle  Burdn !  God  bless 
you  ! '  I  said.  '  How  can  we  dig  a  grave  for  a 
living  man  ?  We  will  take  you  across  to  the 
Amur,  and  then  carry  you  in  our  arms.' 

"  'No,  my  boy  ;  it  is  useless  to  contend  with 
fate,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  my  fate  to  remain  on 


A   SAGTIALINIAN.  141 

tliis  island.  So  you  liad  better  do  as  I  say,  for 
I  have  long  felt  that  this  was  going  to  happen. 
All  my  life  1  have  tried  to  escape  from  Siberia 
into  Russia  ;  I  wish  I  could,  at  least,  die  on 
Siberian  soil,  and  not  on  this  cursed  island.' 

"I  confess  that  Burdn  took  me  entirely  by 
surprise ;  for  now  he  spoke  sensibly,  quite  like 
a  different  being,  and  seemed  fully  conscious. 
His  eyes  looked  bright ;  his  voice  only  sounded 
weak.  He  gathered  us  about  him  and  gave  us 
the  following  instructions :  — 

" '  Listen  to  me,  boys,  and  remember  what  I 
tell  you ;  you  will  not  have  me  with  you  when 
you  travel  through  Siberia,  since  it  is  my  fate 
to  remain  here.  It  will  be  dangerous  business 
for  you,  the  more  so  for  having  killed  Saltdnof. 
The  report  of  this  deed  will  travel  far.  It  will 
be  known  not  only  in  Irkutsk  but  throughout 
Russia ;  and  in  Nikoldevsk  they  will  be  on  the 
watch  for  you.  Be  on  your  guard,  boys ;  travel 
cautiously  ;  rather  suffer  cold  and  hunger  than 
run.  the  risk  of  capture;  avoid  cities  and  vil- 
lages as  much  as  possible.  Do  not  fear  the 
Ghilaks ;  they  will  not  harm  you.  And  remem- 
ber what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  the  road 


142  ^  SAGHALINIAN. 

on  the  Amur  side  ;  a  little  beyond  the  town  of 
Nikoldevsk  lives  our  benefactor,  the  clerk  of 
Merchant  Tarkhanof.  He  traded  formerly  with 
the  Ghildks  on  the  island  of  Saghalin,  and  once 
while  travelling  with  his  merchandise  he  lost 
his  way  in  the  mountains.  He  was  not  then  on 
good  terms  with  the  Ghilaks.  Overtaking  him 
in  an  unfrequented  spot  in  the  ravine,  they 
nearly  killed  him. 

"*We  happened  to  be  tramping  about  the 
same  time.  ...  I  was  escaping  for  the  first 
time.  .  .  .  Hearing  the  cries  of  a  Russian  in 
the  woods,  we  hurried  to  his  rescue,  and,  by 
delivering  him  from  the  hands  of  the  Ghildks, 
won  his  lasting  gratitude. 

"  * "  I  must  take  care  of  the  Saghalinian  boys 
to  my  dying  day,"  he  said,  and,  indeed,  he  has 
helped  us  a  great  deal.  Find  him,  and  he  will 
be  sure  to  assist  you  in  every  Avay  he  can.' 
Then  he  told  us  of  the  different  roads,  giving 
us  all  the  necessary  directions,  and  finally 
said :  — 

"'Now,  boys,  you  had  better  lose  no  time. 
This  spot  suits  me ;  dig  my  grave  here,  Vasili, 
that  the  wind  from  the  Amur  shore  may  blow 


A  SAGUALINIAN.  143 

over  my  grave,  and  that  my  spirit  may  hear  the 
sound  of  the  sea  dashing  against  the  rocks. 
Don't  tarry,  boys,  but  make  haste  and  go  to 
work.' 

"  We  obeyed  him. 

"  There,  under  the  cedar-tree,  sat  the  old  man 
while  we  were  digging  his  grave  with  our 
knives ;  after  we  had  finished,  a  prayer  was 
read.  In  the  meantime,  Bur^n  had  become 
silent,  only  nodding  his  head,  while  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks.  He  died  at  sunset,  and 
shortly  after  dark  we  buried  him. 

"The  moon  had  risen  as  we  reached  the 
middle  of  the  straits,  and  it  was  quite  light. 
We  looked  back  and  took  off  our  caps.  .  .  . 
Behind  us  rose  the  island  of  Saghdlin,  with  its 
hills,  and  we  saw  the  cedar-tree  by  Burdn's 
grave. 


VIT. 

"When  we  reached  the  Amur  shore,  the 
Ghildks  said  to  us  :  '  Saltdnof  .  .  .  head  .  .  . 
water.  .  .  .'  The  natives  are  shrewd  ;  the  mag- 
^-*'^p.   so  to  speak,   carry  news  on    their  tails. 


144  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

No  matter  what  happens,  they  are  sure  to  hear 
of  it  at  once.  We  met  several  of  them  by  the 
shore,  fishing,  who  nodded  -laughingly  at  us. 
Evidently,  they  too  were  pleased ;  but  we 
thought  to  ourselves.  It  is  very  well  for  you 
to  laugh,  you  imps,  while  we  have  to  suffer  for 
it.  That  head  may  cost  us  our  own  !  They 
gave  us  fish,  and,  after  inquiring  about  the 
way,  we  started  on,  walking  as  though  we 
were  treading  on  eggs,  every  sound  startling 
us.  All  the  time  we  were  on  the  lookout, 
avoiding  dwellings  and  the  Russian  huts,  and 
concealing  our  tracks  as  we  went  on. 

"  We  travelled  by  night,  resting  all  day  in 
the  woods.  At  dawn  we  reached  Tarkhanof's 
place.  A  new  house  stood  in  the  field  ;  it  was 
fenced  in,  and  the  gates  were  closed.  Judging 
from  the  description  that  it  was  the  one  Buran 
had  told  us  about,  we  approached  and  knocked 
softly.  Some  one  was  starting  a  fire  inside. 
'  Who  is  there,  and  whence  do  you  come  ?  '  a 
man's  voice  called  out. 

"  '  We  are  vagrants,'  we  replied.  '  Bur^u 
sends  his  regards  to  Stakhey  Mitritch.' 

"  Stakhey  Mitritch,  Tarkhanof's  head  clerk, 


A   SAGHALINIAN.  145 

happened  to  be  away  at  this  time,  and  in  his 
absence  had  left  his  assistant  in  charge,  tell- 
ing him,  in  case  any  vagrants  should  arrive 
from  Saghdlin,  to  provide  them  with  boots  and 
sheepskin  coats,  and  to  give  them  five  rubles 
apiece.  Furthermore,  to  furnish  them  with 
as  much  linen  and  provisions  as  they  required. 
'  No  matter  how  many  there  may  be,  provide 
enough  for  all.  Get  your  workmen  together 
as  witnesses,  so  that  your  accounts  will  be  in 
proper  shape.' 

"  The  news  of  Saltanof  s  fate  had  reached 
here  also,  and  the  clerk  was  frightened  when 
he  saw  us. 

"'Are  you  the  men  who  killed  Saltanof?' 
he  said.  '  You  will  have  to  look  out  for  your- 
selves.' 

" '  Whether  we  did  or  not,  that  is  not 
the  subject  we  wish  to  discuss.  What  we 
would  like  to  know -is  whether  we  can  ex- 
pect any  assistance  from  you.  We  are  re- 
quested to  convey  Burdn's  regards  to  Stakhey 
Mitritch.' 

"'And  where  is  Burdn  himself?  Did  he 
return  to  the  island  ? ' 


146  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

" '  Yes,  he  returned  to  the  island,  and  he 
wishes  you  a  long  life.'  * 

" '  May  he  inherit  the  kingdom  of  heaven ! 
.  .  .  He  was  a  worthy  vagrant,  although  per- 
haps not  very  shrewd.  Stakhdy  Mitritch 
often  spoke  of  him.  I  dare  say,  he  will  have 
his  name  put  down  for  prayers.  What  was  his 
Christian  name  ?     Do  you  know,  boys  ?  ' 

" '  No,  we  do  not.  He  was  always  called 
Bur^n.  Most  likely,  he  had  forgotten  it  him- 
self; of  what  use  is  a  name  to  a  vagrant  ?  ' 

" '  Now  you  see  the  result  of  such  a  life  as 
yours  !  Is  it  not  sad  that  when  the  priest 
wishes  to  pray  for  you  he  cannot  utter  your 
name.  .  .  .  The  old  man  may  have  had  rela- 
tions in  his  native  land,  .  .  .  brothers  and 
sisters,  or  perhaps  even  children.  .  .  .' 

"• '  Very  likely.  Though  a  vagrant  discards 
his  name,  he  is  born  into  the  world  like  the 
rest  of  humanity.  .  .  .' 

"  '  A  hard  life,  indeed  ! ' 

" '  None  worse.  We  beg  the  food  that  we 
eat   and  wear  clothes   discarded  like  our  own 

*  To  wish  one  a  long  life  means  that  the  person  from 
whom  the  wish  is  supposed  to  come  is  dead.  —  Tb. 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  147 

names.  Nor  is  every  vagrant  fortunate  enough 
to  be  buried.  If  he  should  happen  to  die  in  the 
wilderness,  his  body  would  become  a  prey  for 
birds  or  beasts.  .  .  .  Even  his  bones  are  liable 
to  be  scattered  by  the  wolves.  What  could  be 
harder ! ' 

"  Such  talk  made  us  sad,  .  .  .  and,  though 
we  had  said  all  these  things  chiefly  to  touch 
the  sympathy  of  the  clerk,  —  since  the  more 
pitiful  the  story,  the  more  the  Siberian  is  likely 
to  give  you,  —  we  knew  very  well  that  we  had 
given  a  true  and  unvarnished  account  of  our- 
selves. We  could  not  help  thinking  how  this 
man,  after  hearing  our  sad  story,  would  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross  and  go  to  bed  ...  in 
warmth  and  comfort,  he  had  no  one  to  fear ! 
•  .  .  Whereas  we  should  have  to  wander  in  the 
woods  at  dead  of  night,  and,  like  swamp-imps, 
hide  from  all  Christians  at  the  first  crowing  of 
the  cock. 

" '  Well,  boys,'  the  clerk  said  at  last,  '  it  is 
time  for  me  to  go  to  bed.  I  will  give  you 
twenty  kopeks  extra ;  take  it  and  go  your  way. 
I  shall  not  wake  all  the  workmen,  but  I  will 
call  three  of  my  most  reliable  ones  as  witnesses. 


148  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

I  suspect  I  shall  get  myself  into  trouble  on 
your  account. 

" '  Now,  look  out.  I  advise  you  to  avoid 
NikoMevsk.  I  was  there  not  long  ago ;  the 
isprdvnik  *  is  an  energetic  man,  and  has  issued 
orders  to  detain  all  travellers,  no  -matter  where 
they  happen  to  be  found.  He  is  reported  to 
have  said  :  "  I  will  not  let  a  magpie  fly  by  nor 
a  rabbit  pass  nor  a  beast  escape  me  !  much  less 
will  I  suffer  those  Saghalinian  fellows  to  slip 
through  my  fingers."  You  will  be  lucky  if  you 
manage  to  elude  him ;  and  be  sure  on  no 
account  to  enter  the  town.' 

"  He  gave  us  the  usual  quantity  of  provis- 
ion, including  fish,  also  the  twenty  kopeks 
wliich  he  had  promised.  Then  he  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  went  into  the  house,  and 
locked  the  door.  The  fire  went  out,  and  the 
men  went  to  bed.  It  was  but  a  short  time 
before  dawn  when,  with  heavy  hearts,  we 
started  once  more  on  our  journey. 

"How  often  have  we  felt  thus!  On  dark 
nights,  in  deep  forests,  drenched  by  the  rain, 
buffeted  by  the  wind,  with  no  spot  on  earth 

*  The  district  chief  of  police.  —  Tjb. 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  149 

where  we  could  seek  refuge  or  shelter  !  .  .  . 
Still,  one  longs  to  see  one's  mother-country. 
And  yet,  if  ever  a  man  reaches  it,  —  where 
every  dog  knows  him  to  be  a  vagrant,  and 
where  officials  are  vigilant  and  numerous,  — 
how  long  do  you  suppose  he  would  remain  at 
large  in  his  own  native  place  ?  .  .  .  The  prison 
awaits  him  !  ...  At  times  even  the  thought  of 
a  prison  was  a  comfort,  and  that's  a  fact !  So 
it  was  on  that  night  as  we  walked  along. 

"'I  wonder  what  our  folks  are  doing  now, 
boys!'  suddenly  exclaimed  Vol6ydka. 

"  '  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  *  I  mean  the  Saghalinians,  our  comrades  of 
barrack  No.  7.  I  suppose  they  are  sleeping 
just  now,  free  from  care  !  And  here  are  we 
poor  wretches.  .  .  .  We  ought  not  to  have 
started.  .  .  .' 

"'Don't  be  like  an  old  woman,' I  replied, 
pretending  to  be  angry.  '  It  would  have  been 
better  if  you  had  remained  there,  since  you  are 
so  short-breathed,  for  you  only  distress  us  with 
your  whining.' 

"  Yet  I  felt  very  much  the  same  myself. 
We  were  weary,  and  dozed  as  we  trudged  along. 


150  ^   8AGHALINIAN. 

A  vagrant  acquires  the  habit  of  taking  naps 
when  on  his  feet,  and  whenever  I  dozed  I 
invariably  dreamt  of  the  barracks.  ...  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  the  moon  were  shining,  and 
I  saw  the  walls  glittering  in  its  liglit ;  I 
dreamed,  too,  that  I  saw  the  barred  windows, 
and,  behind  them,  the  convicts  sleeping  in 
their  rows  of  bunks.  Then,  again,  I  dreamed 
that  I  also  was  lying  there,  and  stretching 
myself  .  .  .  but  when  I  made  the  motion,  the 
dream  vanished. 

"  What  is  more  painful  for  the  vagrant  than 
to  dream  of  his  father  and  mother?  In  my 
dream,  it  was  as  if  nothing  had  ev^er  happened 
to  me,  as  though  neither  prison  nor  Saghdlin 
had  ever  existed ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  lying 
in  my  parents'  house,  and  my  mother,  softly 
humming,  were  combing  and  smoothing  my 
hair.  A  candle  stood  on  the  table,  and  my 
father,  with  spectacles  on  his  nose,  was  read- 
ing an  ancient  book  ...  he  was  a  book- 
keeper. .  .  . 

"  Arousing  from  my  doze,  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
have  stabbed  myself  then  and  there.  Instead 
of  home,  I  saw  a  narrow  forest-path  ;  Makarof 


A   SAGIIALINIAN.  151 

was  walking  ahead,  and  we  were  following  him 
in  single  file. 

"  Fitful  gusts  of  wind  rose  every  now  and 
then,  swaying  the  branches,  and,  again  subsid- 
ing, left  everything  silent  as  before.  Through 
the  trees,  in  the  distance,  we  caught  glimpses  of 
the  sea,  and  above  it  a  bit  of  the  sky,  showing 
the  first  faint  vestige  of  dawn,  a  warning  for 
us  to  hide  in  some  ravine.  The  sea  is  never, 
never  silent ;  you  may  have  noticed  that 
yourself.  It  always  seems  to  be  talking,  or 
singing,  or  murmuring  something.  ...  It  was 
this  that  made  me  dream  ever  of  songs.  The 
sea  always  made  us  feel  homesick  .  .  .  because 
we  were  not  used  to  it,  I  suppose.  As  we 
approached  Nikoldevsk,  the  country  grew  more 
thickly  settled,  and  our  danger  increased ;  but 
we  still  pushed  slowly  along.  We  travelled 
by  night,  and  b}''  day  hid  in  thickets,  so  dense 
that  beast  or  bird  could  hardly  have  penetrated, 
far  less  a  human  being.  We  ought  to  have 
avoided  the  city  of  Nikoldevsk;  but  we  were 
exhausted,  wandering  in  the  wilderness,  and 
our  provisions  were  nearly  out.  One  evening, 
toward  night,  we  reached  the  river,  and  per- 


152  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

ceived  some  people  on  the  banks.  As  we  drew 
near,  we  recognized  them  to  be  the  '  Free 
Company.'  *  They  were  seining.  We  ap- 
proached in  an  easy,  self-composed  manner. 

" '  How  do  you  do,  gentlemen  of  the  Free 
Company ! ' 

"'How  do  you  do!'  they  replied.  *  Where 
do  you  hail  from  ? ' 

"By  degrees  we  entered  into  conversation 
with  them.  Their  st^rosta,  after  looking  at 
us  attentively,  called  me  aside  and  said :  — 

"'Are  you  not  the  men  from  Saghalin? 
Is  it  you  who  have  "  covered  "  Saltanof  ?  ' 

"  I  must  confess  I  was  in  doubt  whether  it 
would  be  wise  to  tell  him  the  truth ;  for, 
though  he  was  a  fellow-convict,  yet,  in  a  matter 
such  as  this,  I  hesitated  to  confide  in  any  one. 
If  one  stops  to  consider,  a  Free  Company  is  a 
very  different  matter  from  an  ordinary  con- 
vict artdl ;  for,  should  any  of  them  wish  to 
curry  favor  with  the  officials,  he  could  secretly 

*  A  "  Free  Company '^  is  composed  of  convicts  who  have 
served  their  sentence.  They  no  longer  hve  in  prison,  but 
are  quartered  in  the  town,  though  both  their  labor  and  their 
persons  are  still  under  a  certain  control,  and  they  are  sub- 
jected to  rules  and  regulations.  — Autliofs  note. 


A   SAGHALINIAN,  153 

report  us,  —  for  was  he  not  a  '  free  man  '  ? 
Inside  the  prison-walls,  we  were  acquainted 
with  all  the  spies ;  whenever  we  were  be- 
trayed, we  knew  at  once  whom  to  suspect. 
Here  we  were  at  the  mercy  of  all. 

"  Noticing  my  hesitation,  he  added  :  '  Have 
no  fear;  I  would  not  betray  a  comrade  !  More- 
over, it  is  none  of  my  business ;  I  take  your 
word  for  it.  Only,  as  I  had  heard  that  a  crime 
had  been  committed  on  Saghdlin,  and  as  there 
are  eleven  of  you,  I  suspected  it.  This  is  a 
dangerous  business,  boys ;  it  was  a  bold  deed, 
and  our  ispravnik  is  a  shrewd  one,  I  assure 
you.  But,  then,  that's  your  own  lookout.  You 
will  be  lucky  if  you  succeed  in  getting  away. 
Now,  let  me  offer  you  some  provisions  belong- 
ing to  the  artdl,  which  were  left  over  ;  you  are 
welcome  to  them,  as  we  are  to  return  to-night. 
You  can  also  have  what  bread  there  is  left,  and 
some  fish.     Don't  you  need  a  kettle  ?  ' 

"'An  extra  one  might  come  handy.' 

" '  Take  the  one  that  belongs  to  our  artel.  I 
will  bring  you  more  things  in  the  night,  for  I 
always  feel  it  my  duty  to  help  a  comrade.' 

"  We  were  much  relieved.     I  took  off  my  hat 


154  ^  SAGUALINIAN, 

and  bowed  to  this  kind-hearted  man.  My  com- 
rades also  thanked  him.  .  .  .  We  were  glad  to 
receive  the  provisions,  but  still  better  pleased 
to  hear  a  kind  word.  Until  now  we  had  held 
aloof  from  all,  being  well  aware  that  death  was 
the  only  thing  we  could  expect  from  any  man ; 
and  these  men  pitied  us.  In  our  joy,  we  nearly 
got  ourselves  into  trouble. 

"After  they  had  left  us,  our  boys  grew  more 
cheerful,  and  Vol6ydka  even  began  to  dance. 
We  foigot  our  anxiety,  and,  on  entering  a  deep 
valley,  near  the  river-bank,  called  Dickman's 
Valley,  after  a  German  steamship-owner  by  the 
name  of  Dickman,  who  built  his  steamers  there, 
we  made  a  fire,  and  hung  the  two  kettles 
over  it.  In  one  we  made  tea,  and  in  the  other 
fish-chowder.  By  that  time  it  was  nearly  night, 
and  soon  after  it  grew  quite  dark,  and  rain 
began  to  fall;  but  as  we  were  sitting  by  the 
fire,  drinking  tea,  it  did  not  trouble  us  much. 

"  There  we  sat  chatting,  as  snug  and  comfort- 
able as  one  could  wish,  not  dreaming  that,  since 
we  could  distinguish  the  city  lights,  our  fire  also 
might  be  visible  to  the  inhabitants.  That 
shows    how   careless    we    sometimes    become. 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  155 

When  we  travelled  in  the  woods  and  mountains, 
we  feared  every  noise,  and  here,  in  sight  of  the 
city  itself,  we  had  built  a  fire,  and  sat  around  it, 
chatting  as  unconcernedly  as  possible. 

''  Luckily  for  us,  an  old  officer,  who  for  many 
years  had  been  superintendent  of  one  of  the 
Siberian  prisons,  was  then  living  in  the  city. 
The  prison  was  a  large  one,  and  many  men  had 
been  confined  there  at  different  times,  every 
one  of  whom  spoke  well  of  this  old  gentleman. 
Everybody  in  Siberia  knew  Samd-rof ;  and  when 
I  heard,  not  long  ago,  that  he  was  dead,  I  took 
pains  to  go  to  the  priest,  and  paid  him  fifty 
kopeks  to  have  his  name  mentioned  in  the 
prayers  for  the  dead.  He  was  a  good  old  man  ! 
May  he  inherit  the  kingdom  of  heaven !  .  .  . 
Only,  he  would  use  the  most  abusive  language. 
Such  a  spitfire  as  he  was !  He  would  storm 
and  rage,  stamping,  and  shaking  his  fists;  but 
nobody  feared  him.  All  tried  to  please  him, 
for  he  was  a  just  man.  It  cannot  be  said  that 
he  ever  abused  or  imposed  on  any  one,  or  that 
he  ever  took  a  kopek  of  the  artel's  money, 
except  what  was  freely  given  him  for  his  kind- 
ness.    For,  as  he  had  a  large  family,  the  con- 


156  ^  SAGHALINIAN. 

victs  always  remembered  liim,  .  .  .  and  from 
them  he  derived  a  good  income.  At  the  time 
of  which  I  am  speaking,  he  was  already  on  the 
retired  list,  and  lived  quietly  in  Nikolaevsk,  in 
a  house  of  his  own.  Still,  for  old  memory's 
sake,  he  took  an  interest  in  us,  and  that  evening, 
while  sitting  on  the  porch  of  his  house,  smok- 
ing a  pipe,  he  saw  a  fire  in  Dickman's  Valley. 

" '  I  wonder  who  started  that  fire  ?  '  he 
thought  to  himself. 

"  Just  then  three  men  belonging  to  the  Free 
Company  happened  to  be  passing  by.  Hailing 
them,  he  said  :  — 

" '  Where  did  your  company  fish  to-day  ? 
Can  it  be  that  they  are  in  Dickman's  Valley  ?' 

"  '  No,  your  honor,'  they  replied.  '  They 
must  be  farther  up.  Besides,  they  are  expected 
to  return  to-night.' 

" '  So  I  thought.  .  .  .  Do  you  see  that  fire 
beyond  the  river  ? ' 

" '  Yes.' 

"  *  Who  do  you  suppose  it  can  be  ?  ' 

" '  We  couldn't  tell,  Stepan  Savelyitch.  Va- 
grants perhaps.' 

" '  Vagrants,  ...  do  you  say !  .  .  .  and  you 


A  SAGUALINIAN,  •         157 

have  not  the  sense  to  take  thought  for  your 
comrades.  ...  It  is  I  who  must  think  for  all. 
.  .  .  Haven't  you  heard  what  the  isprdvnik  said 
the  other  day  about  the  Saghalinians  —  that 
they  had  been  seen  not  very  far  off.  ...  I 
wonder  if  the  fools  could  have  built  that  fire  ? ' 

"'Very  likely,  Stepan  Sav^lyitch.  It  would 
not  surprise  us  if  it  were  they.' 

"'If  that  is  so,  they  had  better  look  out. 
The  idea  of  doing  such  a  thing  as  that,  the  ras- 
cals !  I  wonder  if  the  ispr^vnik  is  in  town.  If 
he  has  not  returned,  he  will  be  here  shortly. 
When  he  sees  their  fire,  he  will  send  out  a 
company  at  once.  What  is  to  be  done?  I  pity 
those  rascals;  their  heads  will  surely  pay  the 
price  for  Saltd>nof's.  Get  the  boat  ready, 
boys!' 

"  Meanwhile  we  sat  by  the  fire,  waiting  for 
the  chowder  to  be  ready,  for  it  was  a  long  time 
since  we  had  tasted  any  hot  food.  It  was  a 
dark  night.  Clouds  rose  seaward.  It  rained, 
and  the  forest  moaned  ;  but  we  were  happy. 
.  .  .  The  dark  night  is  a  kind  mother  to  the 
like  of  us  vagrants.  The  cloudier  the  sky,  the 
easier  we  feel. 


158         '  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

"  Suddenly  one  of  the  Tartars  pricked  up  his 
ears.  Those  Tartars  are  ever  on  the  alert,  like 
cats.  I  listened  also,  and  distinguished  the 
sound  of  oars.  Going  up  to  the  shore,  I  saw  a 
boat  stealthily  creeping  along  under  the  steep 
bank.  I  could  see  the  men  who  were  rowing  it, 
and  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  cockade  on  the  hat 
of  the  one  at  the  rudder. 

" '  Boys,  we  are  lost,'  I  said ;  '  it's  the  isprdv- 
nik ! ' 

"  The  men  sprang  to  their  feet,  upsetting  the 
kettles,  and  ran  for  the  woods.  ...  I  bade  the 
boys  keep  together,  and  wait  for  the  result. 
Perhaps  we  might  have  a  chance  to  get  the 
upper  hand  if  there  were  but  few  of  them.  We 
hid  beliind  the  trees,  and  waited  to  see  what 
would  come  next.  The  boat  landed,  and  five 
men  stepped  on  shore.  One  of  them  exclaimed, 
laughing :  — 

" '  Why  did  you  run  away,  you  fools  ?  I 
know  a  word  that  will  bring  you  all  out ;  I 
must  say  you  are  brave  fellows,  to  run  like 
rabbits.' 

"  Daryin,  who  was  sitting  beside  me,  under  a 
cedar-tree,  whispered :  — 


A  SAGIIALINIAN.  159 

"  '  I  say,  Vasili,  this  is  strange  !  The  isprdv- 
nik's  voice  seems  very  familiar  to  me.' 

"  '  Keep  still,'  I  said ;  '  let  us  see  what  they 
will  do  next.  There  are  only  a  few  of 
them.' 

"  One  of  the  oarsmen,  stepping  out,  asked :  — 

" '  Here,  don't  be  afraid  of  us  !  Do  you 
know  any  one  in  this  prison  '( ' 

"  We  held  our  breath  and  made  no  reply. 
'  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  you  ? '  the 
same  voice  called  out  again.  '  Answer,  do  you 
know  any  one  in  this  prison?  Perhaps  you 
may  recognize  some  of  us.' 

"  I  replied :  '  Whether  we  know  each  other 
or  not  is  of  no  consequence.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  had  we  never  met,  for  we  are  not  to 
be  taken  alive.' 

"  I  meant  this  for  a  signal  to  my  comrades  to 
be  ready. 

"  As  to  numbers  we  had  the  advantage,  since 
there  were  but  five  of  them  ;  but  we  feared 
that  as  soon  as  they  began  to  fire,  the  shots 
would  be  heard  in  town.  However,  it  made  no 
difference  ;  we  were  determined  not  to  be  taken 
without  a  struggle. 


IGO  ^   SAGIIALINJAN, 

"  Again  the  old  man  spoke :  '  Boys,'  he 
said,  'is  it  possible  that  none  of  you  know 
Samdrof  ?' 

"  Ddryin  nudged  me.  '  Sure  enough,  it  is 
the  superintendent  of  the  N.  prison !  Your 
honor,'  he  said,  '  do  you  remember  Daryin  ?  ' 

"  -'  To  be  sure,  I  do ;  he  used  to  be 
my  stdrosta  in  N.  I  think  his  name  was 
Fed6t.' 

" '  That's  me,  your  honor.  Come  out,  boys ; 
this  is  our  father.' 

"Whereupon  we  all  came  forth. 

"'Can  it  be  possible  that  your  honor  has 
come  to  arrest  us?     We  can't  believe  it.' 

" '  I  pitied  you,  for  being  such  fools.  How 
very  clever,  to  build  a  fire  directly  opposite  the 
town  ! ' 

"  '  We  were  wet,  your  honor ;  it  rained.' 

"  '  R-a-i-n-e-d  !  And  yet  you  pretend  to  call 
yourselves  vagrants.  You'll  not  melt.  You  . 
may  thank  your  stars  that  I  came  out  on  the 
porch. to  smoke  my  pipe  before  the  isprdvnik 
returned.  If  he  had  seen  your  fire,  he  would 
have  found  a  dry  place  for  you  !  you  are  not 
very  shrewd,  boys,  even  if  you  did  get  the  bet- 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  161 

ter  of  Saltdnof,  rascals  that  you  are !  Now, 
make  haste,  put  out  the  fire  aud  get  away  from 
here,  into  the  valley ;  you  may  build  ten  fires 
there  if  you  like,  you  scoundrels  ! ' 

"  So  the  old  gentleman  scolded,  while  we 
stood  around  him,  listening  smilingly.  Finally 
he  stopped,  and  said  :  — 

"  '  Now,  listen  to  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  I 
have  brought  you  some  bread  and  three  bricks 
of  tea,  and  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  remember  old 
Sam arof  kindly;  and  if  you  are  lucky  enough 
to  escape,  one  of  you  may  chance  to  go  to 
Tob61sk  —  if  so,  put  a  candle  before  my  patron 
saint  in  the  cathedral.  I  shall  probably  die 
here  — it  is  my  home,  and,  besides,  I  am  getting 
old ;  but  still  I  often  think  of  my  own  coun- 
try. Well,  good-by  ;  and  take  another  piece  of 
advice  —  divide  yourselves  into  small  parties. 
How  many  are  there  of  you  ? ' 

"  '  Eleven,'  we  replied. 

"  '  Who  could  help  calling  you  fools  !  Prob- 
ably by  this  time  they  have  heard  all  about 
you  at  Irkutsk,  and  yet  you  still  travel  in  a 
body ! ' 

"  After  the  old  gentleman  got  into  the  boat 


162  -4  SAGHALINIAN. 

and  left  us,  we  moved  farther  away  into  the 
valley,  boiled  our  tea,  made  the  chowder,  and, 
taking  the  old  man's  advice,  we  divided  the 
provisions  and  separated. 

"  Ddryin  and  I  kept  together,  Makarof  went 
with  the  Circassians,  the  Tartar  joined  the  two 
vagrants,  and  the  remaining  three  formed  an- 
other party.  From  this  time  forth  we  never 
met  again.  I  do  not  know  whether  my  former 
comrades  are  dead  or  alive.  I  have  heard  that 
the  Tartar  was  sent  here,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  true. 

"  That  same  night,  just  before  dawn,  Daryin 
and  I  crept  past  Nikoldevsk.  Only  one  dog 
barked,  from  a  house  in  the  outskirts. 

"  By  sunrise,  having  travelled  ten  versts 
through  the  woods,  we  drew  near  the  road,  and, 
hearing  the  jingling  of  a  bell,  crouched  behind 
the  bushes,  and  saw  the  isprdvnik  driven  by  in 
a  post-cart.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  great-coat, 
and  was  dozing.  Daryin  and  I  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  What  a  mercy  that  he  was  out  of 
town  the  previous  night !  He  may  have  gone 
out  in  pursuit  of  us." 


A  SAGUALINIAN.  163 


VIII. 

The  fire  on  the  hearth  had  died  out ;  but  the 
yourt  was  still  as  warm  as  an  oven.  The  ice 
on  the  windows  was  melting,  and  we  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  growing  warmer 
outside,  for  in  severe  frosts  the  ice  does  not 
melt  even  from  the  inside,  no  matter  how  warm 
the  yourt  may  be.  Hence  we  did  not  replenish 
the  fire,  and  I  went  out  to  close  the  chimney. 

I  found  that  the  fog  had  disappeared  and  the 
air  had  grown  softer.  In  the  north,  over  the 
brow  of  the  dark,  heavily  wooded  hills,  rose 
faint,  fleecy  clouds,  hurrying  swiftly  across  the 
sky.  One  might  imagine  an  invisible  giant 
gently  sighing  in  the  dark,  cold  night ;  his  broad 
chest  pouring  forth  its  steaming  breath,  to  be 
wafted  across  the  sky  and  vanish  at  last  in  the 
blue  ether.  There  was  a  faint  playing  of  the 
Northern  Lights. 

Yielding  to  its  melancholy  witchery,  I  stood 
pensively  upon  the  roof,  watching  the  ever 
changing  rays.  The  night  showed  forth  in  all 
its  cold  and  dreary  beauty.     Overhead,  the 


164  ^   SAGHALINIAN. 

stars  were  glimmering,  while  the  snowy  shroud 
below  gradually  faded  away  in  the  dim  dis- 
tance. The  forest  looked  like  a  long  black 
comb,  and  the  distant  hills  took  on  a  pale  blue 
tinge.  This  cold  and  silent  picture  filled  my 
soul  with  a  gentle  sadness,  and  through  the  air, 
in  soft  vibrations,  the  words,  "Far!  so  far!" 
seemed  echoing  in  a  minor  chord. 

When  I  returned  into  the  hut,  I  could  tell 
by  the  steady,  regular  breathing  of  the  vagrant 
that  he  was  asleep.  I  also  tried  to  sleep,  but 
could  not,  owing  to  the  effect  his  exciting  tale 
had  produced  upon  me.  At  times,  when  sleep 
nearly  overtook  me,  it  would  seem  as  if  he 
purposely  tossed  and  rolled,  softly  muttering 
in  his  sleep.  His  deep  chest-tones  dispelled 
my  drowsiness,  and  in  my  fevered  imagination 
arose  the  panorama  of  his  Odyssey.  Then, 
again,  forgetting  where  I  was,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  boughs  of  the  larch  and  the  cedar 
waved  overhead.  I  fancied  myself  gazing  from 
a  high  cliff,  and  saw,  in  the  ravine  below,  the 
white  houses  of  the  outposts,  over  which  a 
mountain-eagle  soared  majestically.  In  fancy 
I  wandered  farther  and  farther  from  the  hope- 


A   SAGUALINIAN,  165 

less  gloom  of  my  small  yourt.  A  fresh  breeze 
seemed  to  fan  my  brow,  and  in  my  ears  echoed 
the  faint  murmur  of  the  ocean.  The  sun  was 
setting,  and  in  the  gathering  darkness  my  boat 
rocked  gently  on  the  rippling  straits.  I  was 
deeply  excited  by  the  story  of  the  young 
vagrant. 

What  an  impression  .this  vagrant  epic  must 
make  when  told  in  the  stifling  atmosphere  that 
fills  the  four  walls  of  convict  prison  barracks. 
And  what  was  there  in  this  story,  I  asked 
myself,  t£at  made  such  an  impression  upon 
my  whole  being?  It  was  not  the  difficulties 
overcome  on  the  way,  nor  the  sufferings  en- 
dured, nor  that  "  vagrant  homesickness  " ;  but 
it  was  the  incomparable  poetry  of  liberty. 
And  why  was  it  that  I  heard  only  the  voice  of 
freedom  as  expressed  in  the  measureless  ex- 
panse, in  the  woods,  in  the  steppes,  and  in  the 
ocean  ?  If  this  so  strongly  appealed  to  me, 
how  much  more  so  to  the  vagrant,  who  had 
already  tasted  the  poisoned  cup  of  unsatisfied 
desire.  He  was  still  sleeping,  while  my  excited 
imagination  allowed  me  no  rest.  I  cared  noth- 
ing for  the   cause  of  his  banishment,  for  his 


166  -4   SAGUALINIAN. 

past  life,  or  for  his  deeds  since  he  ceased  "to 
obey  his  parents."  In  him  I  saw  only  a  young 
life,  full  of  strength,  of  energy,  and  of  a  pas- 
sionate longing  for  freedom.  .  .  .  Whither, 
yes,  whither? 

In  his  scarce  audible  mutterings,  I  fancied  I 
heard  sighs.  I  forgot  myself  under  the  press- 
ure of  the  unsolved  question,  and  gloomy 
dreams  hovered  around  me.  .  .  .  The  evening 
sun  had  set,  and  all  the  sad,  infinite  world 
seemed  plunged  in  gloomy  thought.  Heavy 
clouds  hung  overhead.  .  .  .  The  horizon  alone 
was  illuminated  by  the  last  vestiges  of  the 
dying  day,  and  somewhere,  far,  far  away,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  purple  hills,  flickered  a 
light.  What  was  it?  —  the  familiar  flame  on 
the  hearth  of  the  long-forsaken  home,  or  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  dancing  over  the  darkness  of  a 
grave  ? 

It  was  very  late  when  at  last  I  fell  asleep. 


IX. 

When  I  awoke   it  must  have   been   about 
eleven  o'clock.     The  rays  of  the  sun  streamed 


A  SAGHALINIAN,  167 

through  the  windows  of  the  yourt,  playing  on 
the  floor.  The  vagrant  had  departed.  Having 
to  go  to  the  village  on  business,  I  harnessed  my 
horse,  and  started  in  my  little  sleigh  along  the 
village  street.  It  was  a  bright  and  compara- 
tively warm  day.  The  mercury  may  have 
stood  at  twenty  degrees.*  But  .  .  .  everything 
in  this  world  is  relative ;  such  weather  as  is 
usual  in  midwinter  in  other  lands  is  regarded 
here  as  the  first  sign  of  spring.  The  clouds  of 
smoke  rising  simultaneously  from  the  chim- 
neys did  not  remain  stationary  in  immovable 
columns,  as  they  do  in  severe  frosts,  but  in- 
clined to  the  west,  and  an  east  wind  was  blow- 
ing, bringing  with  it  a  warmer  breeze  from  the 
Pacific  Ocean. 

The  village  was  settled  principally  by  ban- 
ished Tartars,  and,  as  it  was  a  holiday,  the 
streets  presented  an  animated  appearance. 
Gates  creaked,  sleighs  issued  forth,  and  tipsy 
riders  were  a  common  sight.  The  worshippers 
of  Mahomet  are  not  rigid  observers  of  the 
laws  of  the  Koran,  and  both  riders  and  pedes- 

*  By  the  Keaumur  thermometer,  used  throughout  Rus- 
sia. —  Tb. 


168  ^   SAGIIALINIAN. 

trians  at  times  described  the  most  fantastic 
curves.  Occasionally  a  startled  horse  would 
make  a  sudden  leap,  upsetting  the  sleigh,  and 
tearing  along  the  village  street,  while  the 
owner,  clinging  obstinately  to  the  reins,  was 
dragged  behind,  raising  a  perfect  cloud  of  snow. 
It  might  happen  to  any  one  to  lose  control 
over  a  horse,  or  to  fall  out  of  the  sleigh,  but 
even  in  such  critical  circumstances  it  was  con- 
sidered a  disgrace  for  a  "  true  Tartar  "  to  loose 
his  hold  of  the  reins. 

A  moment  later,  the  straight,  arrow-like 
street  assumed  an  unusually  bustling  appear- 
ance. The  riders  kept  close  to  the  fences,  the 
pedestrians  fell  back,  and  the  gayly  dressed 
women  in  their  bright  cTiadrys  *  hurried  their 
children  into  the  houses.  Interested  specta- 
tors crowded  the  streets,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  in  one  direction.  At  the  further  end 
of  the  narrow  street  a  group  of  riders  appeared, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  saw  the  races,  of  which 
both  Tartars  and  Yakuts  are  so  fond.  There 
were  about  five  riders,  galloping  like  the  wind ; 
and,  as  the  group  approached,  I  saw  Bagyldi's 
*  A  Tartar  head-dress.  — Author'' s  note. 


A   SAGUALINIAN,  1G9 

gray  horse.  With  every  stroke  of  his  lioofs 
he  increased  the  distance  that  separated  him 
from  the  rest.  A  moment  later,  they  had  all 
passed  me  like  a  whirlwind. 

The  eyes  of  the  Tartars  glistened  with 
fiendish  excitement.  As  they  rode  by,  they 
shonted,  waving  tlieir  hands  and  leaning  back- 
wards, sitting  well  back  on  their  horses'. 
Vasili  alone  rode  Russian  fashion,  bending 
closely  to  his  horse's  neck,  and  occasionally 
giving  a  short,  shrill  whistle,  that  sounded  like 
the  lash  of  a  whip.  His  gray  horse  was  strain- 
ing every  nerve,  cutting  the  air  like  a  flying 
bird. 

The  sympathy  of  the  crowd  was,  as  usual, 
with  the  victor. 

"  Well  done  !  "  cried  the  delighted  specta- 
tors ;  and  the  old  horse-thieves,  passionate 
lovers  of  such  sport,  bobbed  up  and  down, 
clappiiig  their  hands  on  their  knees,  as  they 
beat  time  to  the  galloping  of  the  liorses. 

As  Vasili  returned  on  his  foam-flecked  horse, 
he  overtook  me  half-way  up  the  street.  His 
outstripped  rivals  were  far  behind. 

The  vagrant's  face  looked  pale,  but  his  eyes 


170  ^   SAGHALINIAN, 

glowed  with  excitement;  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  been  drinking. 

"  I'm  on  a  spree,"  he  shouted,  waving  his  hat 
as  he  bowed. 

"  That's  no  affair  of  mine." 

"  Well,  don't  get  angry.  I  can  drink  and 
yet  keep  my  wits  about  me.  By  the  way,  do 
not  give  up  my  saddle-bags  under  any  pretext 
whatsoever  —  not  even  to  me,  if  I  should  ask 
for  them.  —  You  understand  ?  " 

"  I  understand,"  I  coolly  replied.  "  Only, 
please  don't  visit  me  when  you  are  drunk." 

"  You  need  have  no  fear ;  I  shall  not  come," 
he  said,  as  he  gave  his  horse  a  cut  with  the  end 
of  the  rein.  The  horse  snorted,  reared,  and 
sprang  forward  a  few  yards.  Vasili  curbed 
him,  exclaiming :  — 

"  Look  at  my  horse  !  He  is  worth  his  weight 
in  gold.  I  bet  on  him  !  Did  you  see  him  go  ? 
Now  the  Tartars  will  give  me  whatever  I  ask 
for  him,  without  doubt,  because  they  passion- 
ately adore  a  good  horse." 

"  Why  do  you  sell  him  ?  What  will  you 
have  to  work  with  ?  " 

"I  can't  help  it;  it's  fate  !  " 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  171 

Again  he  lashed  the  horse  and  curbed 
him  in. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  'tis  because  I  have  met 
a  comrade  here ;  I  will  give  up  everything. 
Look,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  see  that  Tartar 
on  the  roan  horse,  coming  this  way  ?  Here  !  " 
he  called  out  to  the  Tartar,  "  Akhm^tka,  come 
here  !  " 

The  roan  horse,  arching  his  neck  and  pranc- 
ing, trotted  up  to  my  sleigh  ;  the  rider  took  off 
his  hat  and  bowed,  smiling.  I  looked  at  him 
with  curiosity. 

Akhm^tka's  mischievous  face  was  wreathed 
in  a  broad  smile ;  his  small  eyes  sparkled 
merrily,  as  he  gazed  on  Vasili  with  roguish 
familiarity,  a  glance  that  seemed  to  say  to 
every  one,  "We  understand  each  other.  I'm 
a  rogue,  to  be  sure,  but  a  sharp  one."  His  inter- 
locutor, looking  at  his  face  with  its  high  cheek- 
bones, its  merry  wrinkles  about  the  eyes,  the 
large,  thin  ears  that  stood  out  so  comically, 
involuntarily  smiled  also.  Then  Akhm^tka, 
concluding  that  matters  were  amicable,  nodded 
his  head  with  a  satisfied  look,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  Now  we  understand  each  other." 


172  ^   SAGIIALINIAN. 

"  A  comrade,"  he  said,  nodding  towards 
Vasili ;  "  we  tramped  together." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  I  inquired.  "  I 
never  saw  you  before  in  the  village." 

"  I've  come  for  my  papers.  I've  been  carry- 
ing wine  to  the  gold-mines."  * 

I  looked  at  Vasili ;  he  dropped  his  eyes  and 
gathered  up  the  reins.  Then,  raising  his  head, 
he  gazed  at  me  defiantly.  His  lips  were 
tightly  compressed,  but  the  lower  one  trem- 
bled perceptibly. 

"  I  will  go  with  him  into  the  forest !  Why 
do  you  look  at  me  so  strangely?  I'm  a 
vagrant !  a  vagrant !  " 

He  was  already  on  the  gallop  even  as  he 
uttered   the   last  words.     For   one   moment  a 

*  Liquor  traffic  is  strictly  forbidden  at  the  gold-mines 
or  in  their  immediate  vicinity;  consequently,  about  the 
tributaries  of  the  Lena,  where  the  mines  are  situated,  an 
unlawful  business  has  sprung  up,  that  of  carrying  spirits  to 
the  miners,  who  exchange  for  it  gold.  This  is  dangerous 
traffic,  for,  if  caught,  one  is  sentenced  to  hard  labor,  and, 
in  this  locality,  it  is  carried  on  under  many  and  great  diffi- 
culties. Some  carriers  perish  in  the  forest  from  privations, 
some  are  shot  down  by  Cossacks,  others  die  by  the  hands  of 
their  own  comrades;  but,  to  compensate  for  all  this,  the 
profit  is  enormous,  much  more  than  a  man  could  make  by 
mining. — Author^ s  note. 


A  SAGHALINIAN.  173 

cloud  of  frosty  dust  was  visible  in  the  street, 
then  nothing  was  to  be  seen  or  heard  but  the 
clatter  of  the  horse's  hoofs. 

A  year  later  Akhm^tka  again  returned  to 
the  settlement  for  the  "  papers,"  but  Vasili 
was  seen  no  more. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 


THE  CORMORANTS. 


As  I  reached  the  ferry  in  my  post-horse 
tr6ika,*  it  was  already  growing  dark.  A  brisk 
and  piercing  wind  rippled  the  surface  of  the 
broad  and  turbid  river,  splashing  its  waves 
against  the  steep  banks.  As  the  distant  sound 
of  the  tinkling  post-bells  reached  the  ears  of 
the  ferry-men,  they  stopped  the  ferry-boat  and 
waited  for  us.  Brakes  were  put  on  the  wheels, 
the  tely^ga  f  was  driven  down-hill,  and  the 
cable  unfastened.  The  waves  dashed  against 
the  boarded  sides  of  the  ferry-boat,  the  pilot 
sharply  turned  the  wheel,  and  the  shore  grad- 
ually receded  from  us,  as  though  yielding  to 
the  pressure  of  the  waves. 

There  were  two  telyegas  on  the  ferry-boat, 
beside   ours.     In  one  of  them  sat  an  elderly, 

*  A  team  with  three  horses  harnessed  abreast.  —  Tb. 
t  A  long,  open  cart  without  springs.  —  Tb. 
174 


-SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBEBIAN  TOURIST,   175 

quiet-looking  man,  apparently  belonging  to  the 
merchant  class ;  the  other  was  occupied  by 
three  fellows,  unmistakably  bourgeois.  The 
merchant  sat  motionless,  protecting  himself  by 
his  collar  from  the  piercing  autumnal  wind, 
and  heedless  of  his  travelling  companions. 
The  bourgeois,  on  the  contrary,  were  jolly  and 
talkative.  One  of  them-,  a  cross-eyed  fellow, 
with  a  torn  nostril,  played  the  balaldika*  in- 
cessantly, singing  wild  melodies  in  a  harsh 
voice.  But  the  wind  soon  dispersed  these 
sharp  tones,  carrying  them  hither  and  thither 
along  the  swift  and  turbid  stream.  Another, 
with  a  brandy-flask  and  tumbler  in  his  hand, 
was  treating  my  driver;  while  the  third,  a 
man  possibly  thirty  years  of  age,  a  healthy, 
handsome,  and  powerfully  built  fellow,  was 
stretched  out  in  the  tely^ga,  with  his  hand 
under  his  head,  pensively  watching  the  gray 
clouds  as  they  flitted  across  the  sky.  In  the 
course  of  my  two  days'  journey  from  the  city 
of  N.,  I  had  frequently  encountered  the  same 
familiar  faces.  I  was  travelling  on  urgent 
business,  speeding  with  the  utmost  haste;  but 
*  An  instrument  resembling  a  three-stringed  lute.  —  Tb. 


176    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST, 

'both  the  merchant,  who  drove  a  plump  mare, 
harnessed  into  a  two-wheeled  kibitka,*  and  the 
bourgeois,  with  their  lean  hacks,  constantly- 
kept  up  with  me,  and  after  each  stopping-place 
I  met  them,  either  on  the  way  or  at  some  ferry. 

"Who  are  these  men?''  I  inquired  of  my 
driver,  as  he  approached  my  tely^ga. 

"Kostiushkaf  and  his  friends,"  he  replied, 
with  an  air  of  reserve. 

"  And  who  are  they  ? "  I  asked  once  more, 
for  the  name  sounded  unfamiliar  to  me. 

The  driver  evidently  felt  unwilling  to  give 
me  further  particulars,  lest  our  conversation 
might  be  overheard  by  the  men.  Glancing  at 
them,  he  hastily  pointed  with  his  whip  toward 
the  river. 

Looking  in  that  direction,  I  saw  that  its 
broad  expanse  was  here  and  there  darkened  by 
the  tossilig  of  the  turbid  waters,  and  overhead 
large  white  birds  like  gulls  soared  in  widening 
circles,  now  and  then  plunging  below  the 
waves,  and  rising  again  with  a  shrill  and  plain- 
tive cry. 

*  A  covered  vehicle  used  in  Siberia.  —  Tu. 
t  A  diminutive  of  Constantine.  —  Tk. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.    I77 

"  Cormorants  !  "  the  driver  remarked,  by  way ' 
of  explanation,  as  soon  as  the  ferry  had  landed 
us  on  the  shore,  and  we  had  reached  the  top  of 
the  hill. 

"  Those  men  are  like  cormorants,"  he  con- 
tinued. "They  have  neither  home  nor  prop- 
erty, for  I  have  heard  that  they  have  sold  even 
the  land  they  owned,  and  now  they  are  scour- 
ing the  country  like  wolves.  They  give  us  no 
peace." 

''  What  do  you  mean  ?     Are  they  robbers  ?  " 

"  They  are  up  to  all  sorts  of  mischief ;  cut- 
ting off  a  traveller's  valise,  or  stealing  chests 
of  tea  from  a  transport,  is  their  favorite  amuse- 
ment. .  .  .  And  if  they  are  hard  up,  they  will 
not  hesitate  to  steal  a  horse  from  us  drivers, 
when  we  are  on  our  return  trip.  It  often  hap- 
pens that  one  of  us  may  fall  asleep,. —  every 
one  is  liable  to  that,  you  know,  —  and  they  are 
always  on  the  lookout.  It  was  a  driver  who 
tore  this  very  Kostiushka's  nostril  with  his 
whip,  and  that's  a  fact !  Mark  my  words,  this 
same  K&yska  is  the  biggest  scoundrel !  .  .  . 
He  has  no  mate  now  .  •  .  since  the  transport- 
drivers  killed  him.  .  .  ." 


178    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

"  They  caught  him,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  they  did,  in  the  very  act,  and  they 
made  him  pay  for  his  fun.  The  transport- 
drivers  had  their  turn,  and  he  gave  them  plenty 
of  sport."  • 

The  speaker  chuckled  to  himself. 

"  In  the  first  place,  they  chopped  off  his  fin- 
gers, then  they  singed  him,  and  finally  they 
disembowelled  him  with  a  stick.  .  .  .  He  died, 
the  dog !  .  .  .  " 

"  How  comes  it  that  you  are  acquainted  with 
them  ?  Why  did  you  let  them  treat  you  with 
brandy  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  help  being  acquainted,"  he  re- 
plied, gloomily.  "  I  have  often  had  to  treat 
them  myself,  because  I  stand  in  fear  of  them 
all  the  time.  .  .  .  Mark  my  words  !  Kostiushka 
has  not  come  out  without  a  purpose.  He  would 
not  have  driven  the  horses  so  far  without  some 
object.  ...  I  can  tell  you  that  he  scents  prey 
from  afar,  the  devil !  I  am  sure  of  it !  And 
that  merchant,  I  was  just  thinking  about  him," 
he  added  thoughtfully,  after  a  short  pause  ; 
"I  wonder  if  he  can  be  their  object?  ...  I 
can  hardly  believe  it ;  however,  they  have  a 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST.     179 

new  man  with  them,  whom  I  never  saw  be- 
fore." 

'*  The  one  who  lay  stretched  out  in  the  tel- 
y^ga?" 

"  The  very  one.  .  .  .  He  must  be  an  expert 
...  a  healthy-looking  devil !  .  .  . 

"  Take  my  advice,  sir,"  he  said,  suddenly 
turning  toward  me ;  "  be  on  your  guard  .  .  • 
do  not  travel  by  night.  They  may  be  follow- 
ing you,  for  all  you  know,  those  wretches !  .  .  . " 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  turned  away,  and  affected  to  play  with 
the  reins. 

"  We  are  supposed  to  know  nothing,"  he  re- 
plied, evasively.  "It  was  rumored  that  Khoo- 
din's  clerk,  from  the  city,  was  soon  to  pass  this 
way.  ...  But  this  is  no  business  of  ours." 

Evidently,  I  was  known  here.  I  had  been 
retained  in  a  lawsuit  brought  by  the  firm  of 
Koodin  against  the  government, -and  had  just 
won  it.  My  patrons  were  very  popular  in  these 
places,  and  in  all  Western  Siberia,  and  the  suit 
had  made  a  great  sensation.  Having  recently 
received  a  very  large  sum  of  money,  I  was  hast- 
ening to  the  city  of  N.,  where  I  had  to  meet 


180     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

some  payments  which  were  clue.  I  had  very- 
little  time  to  spare,  the  postal  communications 
were  irregular,  and  therefore  I  carried  the 
money  on  my  own  person.  I  travelled  night 
and  day — sometimes  leaving  the  highway,  wheu 
I  could  gain  time  by  taking  a  short  cut.  In 
view  of  the  rumors  that  had  spread  concerning 
me,  which  were  calculated  to  excite  myriads  of 
hungry  cormorants,  I  was  beginning  to  feel 
somewhat  anxious. 

As  I  glanced  behind  me,  in  spite  of  the  gath- 
ering darkness,  I  could  easily  distinguish  the 
swiftly  galloping  troika,  followed  at  some  dis- 
tance by  the  merchant's  wagonette. 


IL 

"THE   HOLLOW  BELOW  THE  DEVIL's    FINGER." 

At  the  N.  post-station,  where  I  arrived  in  the 
evening,  there  were  no  horses  to  be  found. 

"  Do  take  my  advice,  Ivan  Sem^novitch ! " 
the  stout  and  good-natured  station-master  en- 
treated me,  "  and  do  not  travel  by  night. 
Never  mind  your  business.     One's  life  is  more 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     181 

precious  than  otlier  people's  money.  For  miles 
around  the  only  subjects  talked  about  are  your 
lawsuit  and  this  large  sum  of  money.  No 
doubt,  the  cormorants  will  be  on  the  alert.  .  .  . 
Do  spend  the  night  here  !  .  .  .  " 

Of  course,  I  realized  all  the  wisdom  of  this 
advice;  but,  still,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  fol- 
low it. 

"  I  must  go  on !  .  .  .  Please  send  for  private 
horses.  ..." 

"  You  are  an  obstinate  man,  I  must  confess  ; 
but  I  will  give  you  a  trusty  '  friend.'  *  He  will 
carry  you  to  B.,  to  the  Molokan.  f  But  you 
really  must  spend  the  night  there.  You  will 
have  to  pass  the  Devil's  Hollow.  It  is  a  lonely 
place,  and  the  people  are  audacious.  .  .  .  Bet- 
ter w^ait  till  daylight !  .  .  . " 

Half  an  hour  later  I  sat  on  my  tely^ga,  lis- 
tening to  the  advice  and  good-wishes  of  my 
friend.  The  willing  horses  started  at  once  ;  and 
the  driver,  encouraged  by  the  j)romise  of  a  fee, 
urged  them  to  their  utmost  speed.  We  reached 
B.  in  a  very  short  time. 

*  Name  given  to  drivers  of  private  conveyances  in  Siberia, 
t  A  religious  sect  of  vegetarians. 


182    SKETCUES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

"Where  will  you  take  me  now?"  I  asked 
him. 

"  To  my  friend  the  Molokdn.  He  is  a  trust- 
worthy man." 

Passing  several  huts  in  the  woods,  we  stopped 
at  the  gate  of  a  respectable  house,  where  we 
were  met  by  a  venerable-looking  man,  with  a 
long  gray  beard,  holding  a  lantern  in  his  hand ; 
raising  it  above  his  head,  he  scrutinized  me  for 
a  moment,  and  then  remarked,  in  a  quiet  way : 

"  Ah,  Ivan  Semenovitch !  .  .  .  Some  fellows 
who  passed,  just  now,  bade  me  look  out  for 
Koodin's  clerk,  from  the  city,  .  .  .  and  get  the 
horses  ready  for  him.  .  .  .  And  I  asked  them 
what  business  it  was  of  theirs.  .  .  .  'Very  likely, 
he  may  wish  to  spend  the  night,'  I  said.  ...  It 
is  getting  late,  you  know." 

''What  fellows  were  they?"  interrupted  my 
driver. 

"  The  Lord  only  knows  !  Cormorants,  most 
likely !  They  looked  like  rascals.  ...  I  suppose 
they  came  from  the  city;  but  who  they  are,  I 
cannot  say.  Who  does  know  anything  about 
them?  .  .  .  But  will  you  spend  the  night,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  I  cannot;  and  please  get  horses  for  me 


8KETCUES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST,    183 

as  quickly  as  possible ! "  I  said,  somewhat  un- 
easy at  the  rumors  that  seemed  to  have  pre- 
ceded me. 

"  Walk  into  the  hut ;  it  will  be  more  comfort- 
able than  to  stand  here.  .  .  .  Really,  I  have  no 
horses.  Yesterday  I  sent  the  boy  into  the  city 
with  some  goods.  What  will  you  do  now? 
You  had  better  sleep  here." 

My  distress  at  this  fresh  disappointment  was 
deepened  by  the  darkness  and  gloom  of  the 
stormy  autumn  night  peculiar  to  Siberia.  The 
sky  was  so  overcast  that  one  could  hardly  trace 
the  outlines  of  tlie  heavy  clouds,  and  on  the 
ground  a  man  could  not  see  objects  two  steps 
before  him.  A  drizzling  rain  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  from  the  woods  came  a  mysterious  rustling. 

Still,  I  felt  obliged  to  continue  my  journey,  in 
spite  of  all  obstacles.  Entering  the  hut,  I 
asked  the  proprietor  to  send  at  once  to  one  of 
the  neighbors  to  obtain  horses. 

'^I  fear  you  may  regret  this  hurry,  my  dear 
sir,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  gray  head. 
"And  such  a  night  as  this  is! — Egyptian  dark- 
ness, and  nothing  less  !  " 

When   my   driver  came   in,  he  and  the   old 


184    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

man  held  a  prolonged  consultation.  At  last 
they  both  addressed  themselves  to  me,  entreat- 
ing me  to  remain  over  night.  Still  I  insisted, 
and  then  the  two  began  to  whisper  together, 
and  I  could  overhear  certain  names  as  they 
discussed  the  matter.  "  Very  well,  then,"  said 
the  driver,  as  though  reluctantly  yielding  to 
the  master  of  the  house,  "  your  horses  will  be 
ready  for  you ;  I  am  going  now  to  the  clearing." 

"Will  not  that  require  a  long  time?  —  I  wish 
you  could  find  them  nearer  home.  .  .  ." 

"It  will  not  take  long,"  replied  the  driver, 
and  the  master  added,  in  an  impatient  tone  of 
voice :  — 

"What's  the  hurry?  You  know  the  saying, 
*  Haste  makes  waste.'  .  •  .  Plenty  of  time 
yet.  .  .  ." 

While  the  driver  was  making  his  preparations 
behind  the  partition,  the  master  continued  his 
instructions,  in  the  quavering  voice  of  an  old 
man,  and  I  took  the  chance  to  doze  awhile 
beside  the  oven. 

"  Well,  my  lad,"  I  heard  the  master  say  to 
him,  outside  the  door,  "  tell  the  '  Slayer '  to  make 
haste.  .  .  .  You  see,  he  is  in  a  hurry." 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAJST  TOURIST.    185 

Presently  the  sound  of  galloping  was  heard. 
The  last  words  of  the  old  man  had  dispelled  my 
sleepiness.  I  seated  myself  before  the  fire,  and 
gave  myself  up  to  anxious  thoughts.  The  dark 
night,  the  unfamiliar  surroundings,  the  strange 
faces,  the  unintelligible  conversation,  and  finally 
the  fatal  word.  .  .  .  My  nerves  were  evidently 
unstrung. 

An  hour  later,  the  rapid  tinkling  of  a  bell  was 
heard,  and  the  tr6ika  stopped  before  the  door. 
I  put  on  my  wraps  and  went  out. 

The  sky  had  grown  clearer.  The  clouds 
swept  hurriedly  along,  as  though  in  haste  to 
reach  their  goal.  It  had  ceased  raining,  but 
now  and  then  a  large  drop  fell  from  the  clouds 
that  scurried  along  in  the  rising  wind. 

The  master  came  out  with  a  lantern  to  see 
us  off,  and  by  its  light  I  scrutinized  my  new 
driver.  He  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  and 
powerful  man  —  quite  a  giant,  in  fact.  The 
expression  of  his  face  was  calm  and  stern 
—  impressed,  so  to  speak,  with  the  stamp  of 
some  past  sorrow  never  to  be  forgotten,  and 
his  eyes  had  a  steadfast  and  obstinate  gaze. 

I  must  admit  that  for  a  moment  I  was  ovef- 


186    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

come  by  a  strong  temptation  to  dismiss  this 
giant  driver,  and  spend  the  night  in  the  warm 
and  cheerful  chamber  of  the  Molokdn.  It 
lasted,  however,  but  for  a  moment.  Clasp- 
ing my  revolver,  I  seated  mygelf  in  the  cart, 
while  the  driver  fastened  the  apron  and  slowly 
and  deliberately  took  his  seat  on  the  box. 

"  Look  out,  '  Slayer  ! '  "  was  the  old  man's 
parting  injunction.  "  Look  sharp  !  You  know 
how  it  is  likely  to  be  !  .  .  .  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  the  driver,  and  we 
vanished  into  the  gloom  of  the  stormy  night. 

As  we  drove  past  the  huts  which  were  scat- 
tered at  intervals  along  the  road,  an  occasional 
light  flashed  forth,  and  here  and  there  against 
the  dark  background  of  the  woods  a  grayish 
smoke,  mingled  with  sparks,  curled  up  into 
the  air,  and  melted  in  the  darkness.  Finally 
we  left  the  last  dwelling  behind,  and  the 
solitude  of  the  black  forest  and  the  gloom 
of  the  night  deepened  around  us. 

The  horses,  trotting  evenly  and  swiftly,  car- 
ried me  on  toward  the  fatal  hollow ;  it  was 
now  about  five  versts  away,  and  there  was 
time  enough  to  brood  at  leisure  over  my  situ- 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     187 

ation.  As  often  happens  in  moments  of 
unusual  excitement,  I  had  the  keenest  realiza- 
tion of  it ;  and  when  I  recalled  the  marauder- 
like figures  of  the  cormorants,  the  mysterious 
merchant  who  accompanied  them,  aud  the  unu- 
sual pertinacity  with  which  they  followed  me, 
I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  some  sort  of  an 
adventure  awaited  me  in  the  hollow.  But  the 
part  that  my  gloomy  driver  was  to  play  re- 
mained for  me  like  the  riddle  of  (Edipus. 

However,  the  solution  was  near  at  hand. 
Presently,  the  mountain-chain  came  in  sight, 
outlined  against  the  background  of  the  clear- 
ing sky.  Its  summit  was  covered  with  a  forest 
growth,  and  at  its  base  one  discerned,  through 
the  darkness,  a  flowing  stream,  over  which 
hung  a  projecting  rock,  known  as  the  "  Devil's 
Finger." 

The  road  skirted  the  river  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills.  Beneath  the  Devil's  Finger  it  receded 
from  the  mountain-chain,  and  at  this  point  it 
was  entered  by  a  cross-road,  leading  from  the 
valley.  This  was  the  most  dangerous  spot, 
famous  as  the  scene  of  many  daring  exploits 
on    the   part   of  the   knights   of  the   road    in 


188     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEIUAN  TOUBIST. 

Siberia.  The  narrow,  rocky  road  prevented 
rapid  driving,  and  the  bushes  might  serve  to 
hide  an  ambush.  We  were  nearing  the  hol- 
low. The  Devil's  Finger  began  to  loom  up 
before  us,  the  darkness  adding  to  its  actual 
size,  until  the.  clouds,  as  they  passed  over  it, 
seemed  to  graze  its  summit. 

The  horses  slackened  tlieir  pace,  and  the 
middle  horse,  as  he  trotted  carefully  along, 
watched  the  road  intently,  while  the  side  horses, 
snorting  loudly,  pressed  more  closely  against 
the  shafts.  The  musical  sounds  of  the  tinkling 
bell  echoed  beyond  the  river  and  died  away  in 
the  sensitive  air. 

Suddenly  the  horses  stopped;  with  one 
abrupt  jerk  the  bell  sent  forth  a  tinkling 
peal  and  was  silent.  I  rose  in  my  seat.  Be- 
side the  road,  the  dark  bushes  were  shaken 
by  the  movements  of  some  dusky  object. 

The  driver  had  reined  in  his  horses  just  in 
time  to  avoid  the  attack.  Still,  the  situation 
was  critical,  for  it  was  impossible  either  to  turn 
aside  or  to  retreat.  I  was  just  about  to  fire  a 
random  shot,  when  the  tall  form  of  the  driver, 
rising  from  the  box,  shut  from  me  the  road  and 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     189 

the  bushes.     The  "  SLayer,"  as  he  stepped  to 
the  ground,  quietly  handed  the  reins  to  me,  < 
saying,  as  he  did  so :  "  Do  not  fire,  but  hold 
the  reins." 

His  tones  were  so  calm,  yet  so  impressive, 
that  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  do  otherwise 
than  as  I  was  bidden  ;  my  suspicions  in  his 
regard  were  dispelled.  I  took  the  reins  while 
the  solemn  giant  advanced  towards  the  bushes. 
The  horses  slowly  and  intelligently  followed 
their  master,  without  any  further  order. 

The  rattling  of  the  wheels  on  the  stony  road 
prevented  me  from  hearing  what  was  going 
on  in  the  bushes.  When  we  came  to  the 
place  where  we  had  seen  the  moving  object, 
the  "  Slayer  "  stopped. 

Nothing  was  to  be  heard  except  the  sound 
of  the  rustling  and  cracking  branches  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  road,  in  the  direction 
of  the  mountain.  Somebody  was  evidently 
pushing  his  way  through,  and  the  man  in 
advance  seemed  in  a  hurry. 

"  It  is  that  rascal  Kostitishka,  running 
ahead,"  said  the  "  Slayer,"  listening  to  the 
sound.  "  Bah !  See !  there  is  one  of  them 
left  behind,  it  seems !  " 


190     SKETCUES  OF  A    SIBERIAN   TOURIST. 

Just  then,  at  a  short  distance  from  ns,  a  tall 
figure  darted  out  of  a  bush  and  in  again,  and 
now  we  could  hear  distinctly  the  sound  of 
footsteps  retreating  from  the  road  in  four 
different  places.  The  "  Slayer "  went  up  to 
his  horses  as  quietly  as  before,  arranged  the 
harness,  making  the  bell  tinkle  as  he  touched 
the  duga,*  and  mounted  to  his  seat. 

Suddenly,  from  the  rock  below  the  ''  Finger," 
there  came  a  flash,  followed  by  a  report,  start- 
ling the  silence  of  the  night.  We  heard  some- 
thing strike  against  the  carriage  and  then 
against  the  bushes. 

The  "Slayer,"  dashing  towards  the  bushes 
like  an  infuriated  wild  beast,  exclaimed,  in  an 
agitated  voice :  — 

"Mind  what  you  do,  Koyska!  You  had 
better  not  fool  any  more,  I  warn  you  !  If  you 
had  hurt  my  harmless  beasts  ...  I  should  have 
got  even  with  you,  were  you  to  travel  a  hun- 
dred versts !  .  .  .  Don't  fire,  sir !  "  he  added 
sternly,  addressing  me. 

"  You    had    better   look    out   for     yourself^ 

*  A  wooden  arch  that  rises  over  the  head  of  the  middle 
horse,  and  to  which  a  bell  is  fastened. — Tjj. 


SKETCHES  OF  A    SIBERIAN   TOUBIST.     191 

'  Slayer,'  "  answered  a  voice,  that  was  evidently 
lield  in  control,  and  one  that  did  not  sound 
like  Kostiuslika's.  "  Why  do  you  put  your 
nose  in  other  people's  business,  when  you  are 
not  wanted  ?  " 

The  speaker  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  being 
overheard  by  others  beside  the  one  whom  he 
was  addressing. 

"I  wouldn't  threaten  if  I  were  you.  Your 
Honor,"  replied  the  driver,  contemptuously. 
''  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  though  you  have 
made  common  cause  with  the  cormorants !  " 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  hollow  beneath  the 
Devil's  Finger  was  left  behind,  and  we  were 
once  more  following  the  broad  thoroughfare. 


III. 

"THE   SI.AYER." 

We  drove  four  versts  in  utter  silence  ;  I 
was  meditating  on  what  had  just  happened, 
while  the  driver  sat  playing  with  the  reins, 
alternately  urging  and  holding  in  his  horses. 
I  was  the  first  to  speak. 


192    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,  my  friend! 
It  would  have  gone  ill  with  me,  had  it  not 
been  for  you." 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,"  he  replied. 

"  What  do  you  mean !  .  .  .  That  was  evi- 
dently a  desperate  crowd  !  .  .  . " 

"  That's  true.  ..." 

"  Do  you  know  those  men  ?  " 

"  I  know  Kostiushka.  .  .  .  But,  then,  I  sup- 
pose every  dog  knows  that  rascal !  .  .  .  The 
merchant,  too,  I  have  seen  before  .  .  .  but 
the  one  who  was  left  behind  I  don't  think  I 
ever  saw.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  suppose  he  relied  on 
Kostiushka  to  do  the  business.  .  .  .  No,  sir, 
Kostiushka  is  not  to  be  trusted  !  He  is  the 
first  one  to  run !  .  .  .  But  the  man  I  speak 
of  is  no  coward.  ..." 

He  paused. 

"  This  has  never  happened  before  .  .  .  not 
this  kind  of  business,".  .  .  he  began  again, 
slightly  shaking  his  head.  ..."  I  wonder  how 
Kostiushka  got  hold  of  him.  .  .  .  He  is  gather- 
ing the  cormorants  together  against  me,  the 
cursed  rascal !  .  .  .  " 

"  And  why  are  they  afraid  of  you  ?  " 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     193 

The  driver  smiled. 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  doubt  they  are  afraid  of 
me.  I  gave  one  of  them  his  quietus,  not  far 
from  here.  ..." 

He  reined  in  the  horses,  and,  turning 
towards  me,  he  said :  "  Look  back  ;  do  you  see 
the  hollow  yonder !  .  .  .  I  killed  a  man  there, 
on  that  very  spot !  " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  his  voice  trembled  as 
he  uttered  these  words,  and,  by  the  light  of  the 
dawn,  that  was  beginning  to  brighten  the 
eastern  sky,  I  fancied  I  could  detect  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

We  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  we 
paused.  The  road  ran  towards  the  west. 
Behind  us,  outlined  against  the  brightening 
sky,  stood  the  bold  wooded  hill  whose  rocky 
summit  looked  like  a  giant  finger  uplifted  to 
the  clouds. 

The  morning  breeze  blew  fresh  on  the  hill- 
top, and  the  chilled  horses,  snorting  im- 
patiently, pawed  the  ground.  The  middle 
horse  was  about  to  start  when  the  driver, 
checking  him,  bent  over  on  his  box  and  peered 
in  the  direction  of  the  hollow. 


194    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

Then,  suddenly  turning,  he  gathered  up  the 
reins,  rose  on  the  box,  and  shouted  aloud. 

Starting  on  a  gallop,  we  fairly  flew  from  the 
top  of  the  hill  to  the  bottom.  It  was  a  wild 
ride.  With  flattened  ears,  the  horses  dashed 
onward,  as  if  beside  themselves  with  fear,  while 
the  driver  continued  to  rise  from  his  seat  and 
to  wave  his  right  arm.  The  troika  seemed  to 
feel,  although  it  could  not  see,  his  motions.  .  .  . 
The  ground  vanished  beneath  the  wheels ;  the 
trees  and  shrubs  ran  to  meet  us,  and  seemed  to 
fall  as  we  passed,  as  though  beaten  down  by  a 
furious  gale.  .  .  . 

When  we  were  again  on  level  ground,  the 
horses  were  steaming.  The  middle  horse 
panted  heavily,  and  the  side  horses  trembled, 
snorted,  and  moved  their  ears  restlessly  to  and 
fro.  Little  by  little,  however,  their  terror  left 
them.  The  driver  slackened  the  reins,  and 
spoke  in  soothing  tones :  "  Gently,  dearies, 
gently!  .  .  .  Don't  be  frightened!  .  .  .  Isn't 
it  wonderful  that  a  horse,  a  dumb  beast,"  he 
said  to  me,  "  should  understand  so  well  .  .  . 
for,  every  time  we  reach  the  top  of  this  hill,  it 
is  impossible  to  hold  them.  .  .  .  They  scent  a 
crime.  ..." 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.    195 

"  That  may  be  so,"  I  said,  "but  you  urged 
tliem  yourself  just  now." 

"Did  I,  really?  Well,  maybe  I  did!  Ah, 
sir,  if  you  knew  what  a  weight  there  is  on  my 
mind  !  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  if  you  tell  me,  I  shall  know !  .  .  ." 

The  "  Slayer  "  looked  down. 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
will  tell  you.  .  .  .  Go  on,  my  darlings,  don't  be 
frightened !  .  .  ."  And  the  horses  started  at 
an  easy  trot  along  the  soft  road. 

"  It  all  took  place  long  ago,  .  .  .  and  yet  not 
so  long  ago,  either ;  but  much  has  happened 
since,  and  the  great  change  in  my  life  makes 
the  past  seem  far  away !  I  have  been  deeply 
wronged  by  those  who  were  my  superiors.  And 
God,  also,  sent  me  sorrow;  I  lost  my  young 
wife  and  my  child  at  one  stroke,  and,  having  no 
parents,  I  was  left  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
with  neither  relatives  nor  friends;  and  the 
priest  himself  took  what  little  remained  to  me, 
to  pay  for  the  funeral.  Living  quite  alone,  I 
had  more  chance  for  meditation ;  and  the  more 
I  pondered,  the  less  I  believed,  until  my  former 


196     SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST, 

faith  was  shaken,  if  not  lost,  and  I  found  no 
new  one  to  take  its  place.  It  is  true  I  am  an 
ignorant  man,  —  I  hardly  know  how  to  read,  — 
and  I  dared  not  trust  too  much  to  my  own  rea- 
son, .  .  .  and  I  felt  so  heart-sick,  so  sad,  I 
would  gladly  have  gone  out  of  this  world.  .  .  . 
I  gave  up  my  hut  and  what  little  land  was  left 
me,  all  that  I  possessed,  took  an  extra  sheep- 
skin coat,  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  a  pair  of  boots, 
broke  off  a  branch  in  the  forest  for  a  staff,  and 
started.  ..." 

"  Where  were  you  going  ?  " 

"Nowhere  in  particular.  Sometimes  I  stayed 
in  one  place,  and  worked  regularly  day  after 
day  ;  then,  again,  I  would  wander  from  place  to 
place,  ploughing  a  field  here  and  there,  or  lend- 
ing a  hand  at  harvest-time.  In  some  places  I 
stayed  but  for  a  day,  or  perhaps  for  a  week,  in 
others,  for  a  month ;  and  all  this  time  I  was 
watching  to  see  how  people  lived,  how  they 
prayed  and  what  they  believed.  ...  In  a  word, 
I  was  looking  for  upright  people." 

"  And  did  you  find  them  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  .  .  .  There  are  all  kinds 
of  people ;  and  each  one  has  his  own  troubles, 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     197 

of  course.  Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
people  in  our  neighborhood  devote  but  little 
thought  to  God.  .  .  .  Each  one  thinks  only 
about  himself,  how  to  satisfy  his  own  desires ; 
and  can  that  be  called  living  according  to  God's 
laws !  And  who  can  say  that  the  robber  who 
wears  the  chains  is  the  actual  robber,  after  all! 
...  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  What  you  say  has  some  truth,  no  doubt. 
.  .  .  Well,  and  what  next  ?  " 

**  And  so  I  grew  more  and  more  gloomy,  for 
I  saw  there  was  no  chance  of  improvement. 
Of  course,  I  know  a  little  better  now;  but  even 
now.  .  .  .  But  at  that  time  I  was  beside  myself, 
and  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  I  might 
become  a  convict." 

"  How  could  you  do  that  ?  " 

"Very  simply.  I  called  myself  a  vagrant, 
and  was  shut  up  in  consequence.  It  was  a 
sort  of  penance  that  I  had  imposed  upon  my- 
self. .  .  ." 

"  And  did  you  feel  better  after  that  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  It  was  simple  folly.  Per- 
haps you  never  were  in  prison,  and,  if  so,  you 
cannot  know.     But  I  have  found  out  all  I  care 


198     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

to  know  about  that  kind  of  cloister.  People 
who  live  an  idle  life,  perfectly  useless  to  the 
world,  are  pretty  sure  to  fall  into  wicked  ways, 
and  seldom,  if  ever,  do  they  think  of  God  or  of 
their  own  salvation;  for,  if  they  do,  they  are 
treated  to  the  gibes  and  mockery  of  their  com- 
panions. I  soon  found  that  my  stupidity  had 
brought  me  into  the  wrong  place  ;  so  I  told 
them  who  I  was,  and  begged  to  be  set  free. 
But  this  was  not  a  simple  matter.  Information 
had  to  be  obtained,  one  thing  and  another 
investigated.  .  .  .  And,  moreover,  they  said  to 
me,  'How  did  you  dare  to  call  yourself  what 
you  were  not  ? '  I  don't  know  how  the  busi- 
ness would  have  ended  had  it  not  been  for 
something  that  came  to  pass  just  then,  .  .  . 
which,  although  it  was  not  a  good  thing  for  me, 
perhaps  saved  me  from  something  worse.  .  .  . 

"  One  day  the  report  spread  throughout  the 
prison  that  the  penitent  Bezrtiky  was  to  be 
brought  in.  I  heard  the  rumor  much  dis- 
cussed, some  believing  it  to  be  true,  while 
others  distrusted  it.  But  for  me  it  was  a 
matter  of  indifference  just  then.  What  did  I 
care  whether  they  brought  him  or  not  I — it  was 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.    199 

all  one  to  me  !  —  Prisoners  were  arriving  every 
day.  But  the  convicts  who  had  just  come 
from  town  confirmed  the  story  that  they  were 
bringing  Bezruky  under  a  strong  escort,  and 
that  he  would  be  there  at  night.  Prompted  by 
curiosity,  our  gray  population  had  gathered 
in  the  yard.  I  went  with  them,  not  from 
curiosity,  however.  .  .  .  When  I  was  uneasy,  I 
often  walked  up  and  down  in  the  yard.  I  was 
pacing  to  and  fro,  and  had  almost  forgotten 
about  Bezruky,  when  suddenly  the  gates  were 
opened,  and  an  old  man  was  led  in.  He  was 
short  and  thin,  and  he  wore  a  long  white 
beard ;  one  arm  hung  powerless  by  his  side, 
and  he  tottered  as  he  walked,  like  one  whose 
feet  refuse  to  support  him.  And  yet,  at  this 
one  man,  five  bayonets  were  levelled  by  the 
guards  who  escorted  him.  The  sight  overcame 
me.  '  Heavens ! '  I  thought,  '  what  does  it 
mean?  Can  a  man  be  treated  like  a  wild 
beast !  And  no  stalwart,  brawny  fellow,  but  a 
feeble,  insignificant  old  man,  who  looks  as  if  he 
might  not  live  the  week  out !  .  .  . ' 

"And  I  pitied  him  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart ;  and  the  more  I  looked,  the  more  I  pitied 


200    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBEBIAN  TOURIST. 

him.  He  was  led  into  the  office,  and  a  smith 
was  called  to  shackle  his  hands  and  feet.  The 
old  man  took  the  fetters,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  over  them  (after  the  manner  of  the  Old 
Faith),  and  put  them  on  his  feet.  '  Fasten  it,' 
he  said  to  the  smith.  Then  he  made  a  second 
sign  of  the  cross  over  the  handcuffs,  and,  pass- 
ing his  hands  through  -them,  said  :  '  Suffer  me 
to  wear  them,  O  Lord,  as  a  penance  ! ' " 

The  driver  bent  his  head  and  relapsed  into 
silence,  as  though  re-living,  in  his  memory,  the 
scene  he  had  been  describing.  Then,  suddenly 
lifting  his  head,  he  resumed :  — 

"From  that  moment  he  took  possession  of 
my  heart !  I  must  confess  that  he  bewitched 
me,  and,  even  though  I  afterwards  discovered 
him  to  be  a  tempter  and  a  fiend,  an  incarnate 
devil,  —  may  the  Lord  forgive  me  for  saying  so! 
when  I  recall  that  praj^er  of  his,  I  can  hardly 
believe  it,  ^so  well  could  he  play  the  saint  that 
he  seemed  altogether  different  from  the  man  he 
really  was. 

"  And  I  was  not  the  only  one  who  felt  his 
influence.  Even  our  gray  convicts  became 
subdued;  they  gazed  at  him  in  silence.     The 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     201 

scoffers  grew  quiet,  and  many  crossed  them- 
selves. That  was  the  way  he  affected  them, 
sir! 

"  As  for  me,  I  yielded  myself  completely  to 
his  influence.  For  at  that  time  my  faith  was 
unsettled,  and  this  man  seemed  to  me  like  the 
righteous  men  of  old.  I  had  made  no  friends  in 
the  prison  ;  indeed,  I  had  hardly  spoken  to  any 
one,  and  of  the  conversation  around  me  I  took 
no  more  heed  than  of  the  buzzing  of  flies.  .  .  . 
Whatever  my  thoughts  were,  whether  good  or 
bad,  I  kept  them  to  myself,  and  shared  them 
with  no  one.  I  made  up  my .  mind  that  I 
would,  if  possible,  make  my  way  into  the  cell 
where  the  old  man  was  kept  in  solitary  confine- 
ment, and,  watching  my  chance,  I  gave  five 
kopeks  to  the  guards,  who  allowed  me  to  pass  ; 
and  afterwards  they  used  to  let  me  in  without 
any  bribe.  1  looked  in  at  his  window,  and  saw 
an  old  man  walking  to  and  fro,  muttering  to 
himself,  his  shackles  dragging  behind  him  as 
he  went.  When  he  saw  me,  he  turned,  and 
came  up  to  the  door.  '  What  do  you  want  ?  ' 
he  asked.  —  'Nothing  in  particukir,'  I  said;  'I 
have  come  to  make  you  a  call.     I  thought  you 


202     SKETCUES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUIIIST, 

might  be  lonely.'  —  'I  am  not  alone  here,'  he 
said ;  '  I  am  with  God ,  and  one  is  never  lonely 
who  dwells  with  God.  Still,  I  am  glad  to  see  a 
good  man.'  —  And  thus  I  stood  facing  him, 
looking  so  like  a  fool  that  he  could  not  help 
noticing  my  expression ;  but  he  said  nothing, 
only  gazed  at  me  and  shook  his  head.  One  day 
he  said  to  me,  '  Draw  back  a  little  from  the  win- 
dow, my  lad;  I  want  to  get  a  better  look  at 
you.'  I  stepped  back,  and  he  put  his  eye  to 
the  opening,  and,  after  gazing  long  at  me,  he 
said :    '  Tell  me  something  about  yourself! ' 

"  '  What  is  there  to  tell ! '  I  said  ;  '  I  amx  a 
ruined  man  !  '  —  '  Can  I  trust  you  ?  '  he  asked, 
'You  will  not  deceive  me?' — 'I  have  never 
deceived  any  one,  and  surely  I  would  not 
deceive  you.  I  will  do  anything  for  you.' 
He  thought  awhile,  and  then  he  said :  '  I 
want  to  send  some  one  outside  to-night.  Will 
you  go?'  —  'How  can  I  get  out?'  I  asked.  —  'I 
will  teach  you,'  he  said.  And  his  instructions 
were  so  successful  that  I  left  the  prison  that 
night,  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been  my  own  hut. 
I  found  the  man  to  whom  I  was  sent,  and  gave 
him  the  message,  but,  when  on  my  way  back 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,    203^ 

the  next  morning,  I  must  admit  that,  as  I  was 
api^roaching  the  prison,  just  before  daybreak, 
a  sense  of  excitement  came  over  me.  Why 
should  I  remain  a  prisoner  of  my  own  accord  ? 
Since  I  was  free,  the  best  thing  I  could  do 
would  be  to  leave  those  parts.  The  prison 
was  in  the  country,  and  a  broad  highway  lay 
before  me.  The  dew  glistened  on  the  grass; 
it  was  close  upon  harvest-time.  Beyond  the 
river,  I  could  hear  the  gentle  soughing  of  the 
forest.  ...  A  lovely  picture  !  And  behind 
me  stood  the  prison,  frowning  and  blinking 
like  an  owl.  .  .  .  At  night,  when  all  is  still, 
one  does  not  care ;  but  by  daylight !  .  .  . 
When  I  thought  of  the  busy  day  spinning 
like  a  wheel,  it  seemed  as  though  I  could  not 
bear  it.  My  heart  leaped  within  me,  and  the 
temptation  to  follow  the  road,  to  regain  my 
lost  liberty,  and  to  roam  hither  and  yonder  at 
my  own  will,  was  almost  too  strong  for  me.  .  .  . 
But  when  I  remembered  the  old  man,  I  felt 
that  I  could  not  deceive  him.  Stretching 
myself  out  on  the  grass,  with  my  face  down- 
ward, I  rested  awhile  ;  then  rose,  and,  without 
once  looking  back,  took  the  direction  of  the 


204    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

prison.  Looking  up  as  I  approached,  I  saw 
my  old  man  in  tlie  tower,  where  our  secret 
cells  were,  sitting  by  the  window,  watching  me 
from  behind  the  bars. 

"  During  the  day,  I  found  a  chance  to  glide 
into  his  cell  and  tell  him  how  I  had  carried  out 
his  orders.  He  looked  more  cheerful,  as  he 
said  to  me  :  '  Thank  you,  my  child  !  You  have 
done  me  a  great  favor  ;  I  shall  never  forget  it.' 
And  after  a  pause  he  added,  smiling,  '  I  sup- 
pose you  are  anxious  to  be  free?'  —  'Yes,  I  am 
anxious,  more  than  words  can  say.'  —  'I  thought 
so.  And  what  brought  you  here  ! '  — '  My  own 
folly ;  I  have  committed  no  crime.'  He  shook 
his  head  and  said :  *  It  makes  me  sad  to  see 
you.  God  has  given  you  so  much  strength ; 
you  are  no  longer  a  boy,  and  yet  you  know 
very  little  about  life.  Here  you  are  locked 
up.  .  .  .  And  what  is  the"  good  of  it  ?  The 
world,  it  is  true,  is  full  of  sin,  and  yet  it  is  in 
the  world  that  you  work  out  your  salva- 
tion. .  .  .'  — '  Yes,  I  know  there  is  sin  in  the 
world,'  I  replied,  '  but  there  is  just  as  much 
of  it  here,  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained 
by  sinning.' — '  Have  you  repented  of  your  own 
sins  ?  '  he  inquired. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     205 

"  '  I  am  disgusted  with  myself ! ' 

" '  Disgusted,  and  yet  you  know  not  why. 
This  is  not  true  repentance.  True  repentance 
is  sweet.  Listen,  and  remember  what  I  tell 
you:  God  alone  is  without  sin;  man  is  a  sin- 
ner by  his  very  nature,  and  is  saved  by  repent- 
ance alone.  He  must  repent  of  his  sins.  How 
is  he  to  repent  who  has  committed  no  sin? 
And  yet  unless  he  does  repent,  we  are  told, 
he   cannot  be  saved.      Do  you  understand  ? ' 

"  At  the  time,  I  must  admit,  I  understood 
his  words  imperfectly ;  yet  they  sounded  like 
good  words.  I  had  thought  much  about  my 
own  life  :  other  people  seemed  to  live  their 
lives  for  some  purpose,  but  not  I ;  I  was  like 
the  field-grass  or  a  fox  in  the  woods,  —  no 
good  to  myself  or  to  others.  To  be  sure,  if 
I  were  living  in  the  world,  I  should  probably 
be  sinning,  and  here  I  was  only  restless.  It 
is  true,  I  did  not  know  how  to  live ;  but  why 
talk  of  living,  when  I  was  still  shut  up  in 
prison  !  '  I  can  manage  that  affair,'  said  the 
old  man.  '  I  have  prayed  about  you :  it  has 
been  given  to  me  to  lead  your  soul  out  of 
prison.  ...  If  you  will  promise  to  obey  me, 


206    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST, 

I  will  show  you  the  road  to  repentance.'  —  '  I 
will  promise,'  I  replied.  —  '  And  will  you  take 
your  oath  ? '  —  'I  will,'  I  said.  And  so  I 
pledged  myself,  for  at  that  time  he  had  so 
won  my  confidence  that  I  was  utterly  in  his 
power.  I  would  have  gone  through  fire  and 
water  for  him.  ...  I  trusted  that  man.  One 
of  the  conyicts  tried  to  warn  me  :  '  Why  are 
you  so  intimate  with  Bezrtiky  ?  Don't  be 
taken  in  by  his  piety  !  You  know  about  his 
hand :  a  traveller  on  the  highway,  whom  he 
was  planning  to  rob,  sent  a  bullet  through  it.' 
But  I  paid  no  heed  to  what  he  said,  since 
he  was  tipsy  at  the  time,  and  I  cannot  abide 
a  drunken  man.  When  I  turned  away  from 
him  he  took  offence.  '  Go  to  the  deuce,  fool 
that  you  are  ! '  I  must  allow  that  he  was  cor- 
rect, although  he  was  a  drunkard. 

"About  this  time,  Bezruky  was  less  strictly 
guarded.  He  was  brought  from  his  cell  into 
the  general  prison,  but,  like  myself,  he  remained 
almost  as  solitary  as  before.  Whenever  the 
convicts  teased  him,  or  attempted  to  joke  with 
him, he  made  no  reply  in  words;  but  his  glance 
was  enough  to  make  the  boldest  of  them  quail. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     207 

He  had  an  evil  eye.  .  .  .  After  a  while  came 
the  time  for  his  release.  One  summer  day,  as 
I  was  walking  in  the  yard,  I  saw  the  superin- 
te-ndent  go  into  the  office,  immediately  followed 
by  Bezriiky,  under  escort,  and  in  less  than  an 
hour  they  both  came  out  on  the  porch,  Bez- 
ruky  dressed  in  his  own  suit  of  clothes,  ready 
to  leave,  and  looking  quite  happy,  and  the 
superintendent  also  smiling.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  how  strictly  he  was  guarded  when 
they  brought  him  in  —  an  innocent  man,  as  he 
called  himself.  I  felt  sad  and  lonely  at 
the  thought  of  being  left  behind.  Bezruky 
glanced  around,  and,  seeing  me,  made  a  sign, 
and  I  went  up  to  him,  pulling  off  my  cap  and 
saluting  the  chief,  while  Bezruky  said:  — 

"  '  I  say,  Your  Excellency,  could  you  look  out 
for  this  lad?     He  has  not  done  anything.' 

"'What  is  your  name?'  asked  the  superin- 
tendent. 

"'Feodor  Seelin,'  I  replied. 

" '  Ah,  I  remember !  We  will  see  about  you. 
No  man  is  to  be  condemned  for  his  own  stu- 
pidity. This  fellow  ought  to  be  kicked  out,  to 
teach  him  better  than  to  come  where  he  does 


208    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

not  belong.  That's  all  there  is  about  it,  for  I 
believe  the  necessary  information  was  re- 
ceived some  time  ago.  He  will  certainly  be 
released  in  the  course  of  a  week.' 

"  '  That's  good,'  said  Bezruky,  '  and  you,  my 
lad,'  he  continued,  calling  me  aside,  '  when 
you  are  released,  go  to  Kildeyefs  and  ask  for 
the  master,  Ivan  Zakhdrof.  I  have  spoken  to 
him  about  you,  my  boy  —  and  remember  your 
oath.' 

"And  then  they  went  away.  In  a  week  I 
too  was  released,  and  went  at  once,  according 
to  Bezruky's  directions,  to  the  appointed  place, 
wdiere  I  found  Iv4n  Zakharof,  and  when  I  ex- 
plained to  him  that  Bezruky  had  sent  me,  'I 
know ! '  he  said ;  '  the  old  man  has  spoken  to 
me  about  you.  Well,  you  may  work  for  me 
for  a  while,  and  we  will  see  later  what  is  to  be 
done.' 

"  '  And  where  is  Bezruky  now  ?  '  I  inquired. 

"'He  is  away  on  business,'  he  answered; 
'  but  we  expect  him  shortly.' 

"  And  so  I  remained  there ;  but  not  really  as 
a  workman,  for  no  duties  were  assigned  to  me. 
The  family  was  a  small  one  —  the  master,  a 


SKETCUES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     209 

grown-up  son,  who  was  a  workman  .  .  .  and 
myself,  beside  the  women -folks,  and  Bezruky, 
who  was  there  from  time  to  time.  They  were 
Starovier?/*  and  very  pious  people,  strict  fol- 
lowers of  the  law  ;  they  never  used  tobacco  or 
liquor.  And  as  to  their  workman,  Kuzma,  he 
was  a  racTored,  half-witted  fellow,  as  black  as  an 
Ethiopian ;  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  tinkle  of  a 
bell,  he  used  to  rush  out  and  hide  in  the 
bushes,  and,  above  all,  he  stood  in  mortal  ter- 
ror of  Bezruky.  If  he  caught  sight  of  him  in 
the  distance,  he  would  run  for  the  woods,  to 
hide  himself,  and  always  in  the  very  same  place. 
The  family  might  call  him  again  and  again — he 
never  would  answer  a  syllable.  But  let  Bez- 
ruky go  after  him  and  speak  one  word,  he 
would  follow  like  a  lamb,  and  do  everything  he 
bade  him. 

"  Bezruky  did  not  come  often,  and,  when  he 
did  come,  he  hardly  ever  talked  with  me.  I 
used  to  notice  that,  when  talking  with  the 
master,  he  would,  at  the  same  time,  often  look 
at  me,  to  see  how  I  worked;  but  if  I  ap- 
proached liim,  he  always  told  me  that  he  was 
*  Believers  of  the  Old  Faith. 


210     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

busy.  '  Have  patience,  my  lad !  I  am  coming 
to  live  here  before  long ;  then  we  shall  have 
more  time  to  talk.'  I  had  fallen  into  a  restless 
state  of  mind,  though  I  had  nothing  to  com- 
j)lain  of  —  I  was  not  overworked,  and  never 
had  a  cross  word  spoken  to  me ;  the  food  was 
good,  and,  though  I  was  a  driver,  I  was  but 
seldom  sent  out  with  any  traveller.  It  was 
generally  the  master  himself  who  went,  or  the 
son  with  the  workman,  particularly  if  it  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  night-time.  Yet,  when  I 
was  idle,  I  felt  more  dejected  than  ever,  as 
might  naturally  be  expected.  My  thoughts 
kept  my  mind  uneasy  and  restless.  .  .  . 

"Returning  home  from  the  mill,  one  evening, 
some  weeks  after  I  was  released,  I  found  our 
hut  full  of  men.  I  unharnessed  the  horse,  and 
was  just  on  the  point  of  entering  the  porch 
when  the  master  came  out  and  said :  '  Don't  go 
in  yet ;  wait  till  I  call  you  I  Mind  what  I  say ; 
don't  go  in  yet ! '  — '  What's  all  this  about ! '  I 
thought  to  myself;  but  I  turned  and  went  up 
to  the  hay-loft,  where  I  stretched  myself  out 
on  the  hay.  Finding  it  impossible  to  sleep, 
and  remembering  that  I  had  left  my  axe  by 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     211 

tlie  brook,  I  decided  to  go  after  it,  for  I 
thought  to  myself  that  those  men  might  dis- 
cover it  on  their  way  home,  and  carry  it  off 
with  them.  As  I  passed  by  the  windows,  I 
looked  in  and  saw  that  the  room  was  full  of 
men;  the  inspector  himself  was  seated  at  a 
table,  on  which  were  spread  food  and  brandy, 
together  with  paper  and  pens  ...  in  short,  it 
was  plainly  to  be  seen  that  an  investigation 
was  going  on;  and  seated  on  a  bench  near 
the  wall  I  beheld  Bezruky  himself.  Good 
heavens !  I  was  completely  paralyzed !  His 
hair  was  disarranged,  his  hands  bound  behind 
him,  his  eyes  shining  like  two  fiery  coals.  .  .  . 
I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  dreadful  he  seemed 
to  me.  ... 

"  I  drew  back,  and  stood  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  window.  ...  It  was  autumn ;  the 
night  was  dark  and  starry ;  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  I  heard  the  splash  of  the  river  and  the 
murmur  of  the  forests  as  if  in  a  dream.  Trem- 
bling, I  dropped  on  the  grass  by  the  river-bank. 
How  long  I  had  stayed  there  I  cannot  say 
when  I  heard  some  one  coming  along  the  forest- 
path,  swinging  a  cane.     He  wore  a  white  coat 


212    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

and  hat,  and  I  recognized  the  clerk,  who  lived 
four  versts  from  there.  He  crossed  the  bridge 
and  went  straight  to  the  hut,  and  I  could  not 
resist  going  up  to  the  wdndow  to  see  wliat 
w^ould  happen  next.  ...  He  entered,  took  off 
his  cap,  and  looked  around.  Evidently,  he 
did  not  know  why  he  had  been  summoned. 
As  he  went  up  to  the  table,  he  said,  in  passing 
Bezrtiky,  '  How  do  you  do,  Ivan  Alekseyitch  ! ' 
Such  a  glance  as  Bezruky  gave  him!  The 
proprietor  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve  and  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear  that  seemed  to  sur- 
prise him.  He  went  up  to  the  inspector,  who 
had  already  been  imbibing  rather  freely,  and 
who,  rousing  himself,  looked  up  at  him  with 
his  blurred  eyes,  and,  after  exchanging  the 
usual  greeting,  asked,  pointing  at  Bezrtik}^, 
'Do  you  know  this  man?' — 'No,'  he  replied, 
'  I  don't  remember  ever  seeing  him  before.' 

"What  could  it  all  mean?  The  inspector 
certainly  knew  him  well.  He  went  on  with  his 
examination. 

"  '  Is  this  Ivan  Alekseyef,  who  belongs  in  this 
neighborhood,  and  is  known  under  the  name 
of  Bezruky  ? ' 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST.    213 

" '  No,'  replied  the  clerk  ;  '  that  is  not  he.' 

"  The  inspector  picked  up  his  pen,  and,  after 
writing  something  down,  he  proceeded  to  read 
it  aloud.  And  I  stood  outside,  by  the  window, 
wondering  what  it  all  meant ;  for  he  read  from 
the  paper  tliat  this  old  man,  Iv4n  Aleksevef, 
was  not  Ivdn  Alekseyef ;  that  neither  the  clerk 
nor  the  neighbors  recognized  him  as  such ;  and 
that  he  called  himself  Ivan  Iv^nof,  and  showed 
his  passport  in  proof  of  it.  Wonderful  thing ! 
Of  all  these  people  who  set  their  hands  to  the 
document,  not  one  of  them  seemed  to  know 
him.  It  was  certain  that  the  witnesses  had 
been  carefully  chosen  for  the  occasion,  for  they 
were  all  debtors  of  Iv4n  Zakharof  —  his  slaves, 
in  fact. 

"After  this  business  was  transacted,  the 
witnesses  were  allowed  to  depart.  .  .  .  The 
inspector  had  previously  ordered  that  Bezruky 
should  be  set  at  liberty,  and  Ivdn  Zakhdrof 
brought  the  money  and  handed  it  to  the  inspec- 
tor, who,  after  counting  it,  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

" '  Now,  old  man,  you  will  have  to  leave 
these  parts  for  the  next  three  months  !     But  if 


214     SKETCHES   OF  A    SIBERIAN   TOURIST, 

you  clioose  to  stay,  remember  that  you  are  not 
to  blame  me.  .  .  .  Well,  now  get  my  horses 
ready.' 

"  I  left  the  window  and  went  up  into  the 
hay-loft,  expecting  that  some  one  would  pres- 
ently come  to  fetch  the  horses,  and  I  did  not 
want  to  be  found  lurking  under  the  windows. 
As  I  lay  on  the  hay,  unable  to  go  to  sleep,  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream.  .  .  .  Somehow,  I 
could  not  collect  my  thoughts.  I  heard  the 
tinkling  of  the  bell  as  the  inspector  drove 
away,  saw  that  the  lights  were  put  out,  and  all 
became  still  in  the  house.  I  was  just  falling 
asleep  when  again  I  heard  a  bell,  for  it  was  a 
very  still  night,  and  one  could  hear  sounds  a 
long  way  off  ...  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 
.,  .  .  Some  one  was  coming  towards  the  hut 
from  the  direction  of  the  river.  By  and  by  the 
folks  in  the  hut  heard  it,  and  a  fire  had  been 
kindled  by  the  time  the  tr6ika  drove  up  into  the 
yard.  A  driver  whom  we  knew  had  brought 
the  travellers  here,  as  a  friendly  return  for  the 
customers  we  had  brought  him. 

"  I  thought  that  they  would  very  likely  spend 
the  night  here,  and,  if  not,  I  knew  that  they 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     215 

seldom  sent  me  out  at  night,  for  it  was  gen- 
erally the  master  who  drove  — or  maybe  his  son, 
with  the  workman  ;  so  I  was  just  falling  asleep 
again,  when  I  was  roused  by  the  voices  of  the 
master  and  Bezruky,  who  were  conversing  in 
an  undertone  under  the  roof  of  the  hay-shed. 

" '  Well,  what  shall  we  do  now  ? '  said  the  old 
man  ;  '  where  is  Kuzmd  ?  ' 

" '  That's  the  trouble  ;  Ivdn  has  gone  with 
the  inspector,  and  as  soon  as  Kuzma  saw  the 
crowd  he  ran  to  the  bushes,  and  he  is  not  to  be 
found.' 

"  '  Such  a  fool !  I  believe  he  is  half-witted ! 
And  how  about  Fe&dor  ? '  the  old  man  said  — 
meaning  me,  you  understand. 

"'When  Feodor  came  home  from  the  mill 
to-night,  he  wanted  to  go  into  the  hut,  but  I 
would  not  let  him.' 

" '  That's  well.  He  must  have  gone  to  sleep. 
You  don't  think  that  he  saw  anything? ' 

" '  I  suppose  not,  for  he  went  directly  to  the 
hay-loft.' 

"  '  That  is  good.     We  will  try  him  to-night.' 

"  '  You  had  better  look  out !  Do  you  dare  to 
trust  him  ?  '  said  Zakhdrof. 


216     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOUBIST, 

"  '  Yes  ;  although  he  is  a  simple-minded  lad, 
he  has  great  strength,  and,  moreover,  he  obeys 
me;  I  can  twist  him  round  my  little  finger. 
Besides,  you  must  remember  that  I  am  now 
about  to  go  away  for  six  months,  and  we  must 
break  him  in  before  I  go.' 

" '  Yes,  but  I  cannot  help  distrusting  him,' 
said  Zaldiarof;  'I  have  no  faith  in  him  what- 
ever, although  he  looks  so  simple.' 

"  '  Well,  well,  I  know  him  ;  he  is  not  a  clever 
lad,  to  be  sure,  but  that's  the  kind  that  best 
suits  us.  And  we  must  certainly  get  rid  of 
Kuzma ;  I  am  afraid  lie  will  get  us  into  some 
scrape.' 

"Then  I  heard  them  call,  'Fe6dor! '  —  'Fed- 
dor  ! '  and  I  really  had  not  the  courage  to  answer. 

" '  Get  up,  my  good  Fe6dor,'  said  the  old  man, 
in  his  sweetest  tones.  '  Were  you  asleep  ? '  he 
asked. 

"'Yes,'    I    replied.  .  .  . 

"  '  Get  up,  my  boy,  and  harness  the  horses  ; 
you  will  have  to  drive  the  travellers.  Do  you 
remember  your  oath  ? ' 

" '  I  do  ' ;  and  my  teeth  chattered  as  I  spoke, 
and  cold  chills  were  running  all  over  me. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     217 

" '  I  think  the  time  for  keeping  your  promise 
to  obey  all  my  commands  is  at  hand.  And, 
meanwhile,  be  lively  about  harnessing,  for  the 
travellers  are  in  haste.' 

"I  pulled  out  the  tely^ga  from  the  shed,  put 
the  collar  on  the  middle  horse,  and  began  to 
harness.  Meanwhile,  my  heart  was  throbbing 
violently,  and  I  felt  all  the  time  as  if  this  must 
be  a  dream. 

"  Bezruky  also  saddled  his  own  horse,  which 
was  docile  as  a  dog ;  he  could  saddle  him  with 
one  hand.  Then  he  mounted,  and,  having 
whispered  something  into  the  horse's  ear,  he 
rode  off.  After  harnessing  the  middle  horse,  I 
looked  out  of  the  gate,  and  watched  him  as  he 
started  on  a  trot  towards  the  woods.  Although 
the  moon  had  not  yet  risen,  it  was  tolerably 
light ;  and  after  I  saw  him  disappear  in  the 
woods,  I  felt  easier.  I  drove  up  to  the  door, 
and  was  asked  to  come  in.  The  traveller  was 
a  young  woman  with  three  small  children,  the 
oldest  of  whom  looked  about  four,  and  the  young- 
est girl  might  have  been  two  years  old.  '  I 
wonder  where  you  are  going,  you  poor  creature  ! ' 
I  thought  to  myself  ;  '  and  without  a  husband, 


218    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST, 

too  !  Such  a  kind  and  friendly  lady  ! '  She 
made  me  sit  down,  and  gave  me  some  tea,  and 
asked  me  what  sort  of  a  neighborhood  it  was, 
and  whether  there  had  been  any  reports  of 
robberies.  'I  have  not  heard  of  any,'  I  replied; 
and  couldn't  help  thinking:  '  Ah,  my  blessed 
heart,  you  are  afraid!'  and  how  could  she  help 
it,  to  be  sure  !  She  had  a  good  deal  of  luggage, 
and  all  the  signs  of  wealth,  and,  above  all,  there 
were  her  children.  A  mother's  heart  is  an  anx- 
ious one,  and  I  don't  suppose  she  was  travelling 
for  pleasure. 

"  Well,  we  started.  It  was  about  two  hours 
before  daylight.  We  had  reached  the  higlnvay, 
and  driven  on  for  a  verst  or  so,  when  sud- 
denly one  of  the  side  horses  shied,  'What 
now!'  I  thought.  I  stopped  the  team,  and  saw 
Kuzmd  creeping  out  of  the  bushes.  There  he 
stood,  by  the  roadside,  shaking  his  locks  and 
grinning  at  me.  '  Deuce  take  you  ! '  said  I  to 
myself.  I  was  somewhat  startled,  and  the 
lady  sat  there  more  dead  than  alive.  .  .  .  The 
children  were  asleep,  but  she  was  wide-awake, 
watching.  I  knew  that  she  was  crying.  .  .  . 
*I  am  afraid,'  she  said.     'I  am   afraid  of  you 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     219 

all.  .  .  .  '  —  'God  bless  yon,  my  dear  lady,'  I 
cried,  '  I  am  not  a  villain.  Why  didn't  you 
stay  at  the  hnt,  where  you  were  ?  .  .  .'  —  'I 
was  more  frightened  there  than  I  am  here.  My 
last  driver  told  me  that  we  should  come  to  a 
village  at  night;  and,  instead  of  that,  he  brought 
me  to  this  place  in  the  woods.  And  the  old 
man  liad  such  a  Avicked  look  !  .  .  .'  she  con- 
tinued. .  .  .  What  was  I  to  do  with  her  !  I 
could  see  tTiat  she  felt  very  wretched.  '  What 
had  we  better  do  now?'  I  asked.  'Will  you 
turn  back,  or  shall  we  go  on  ? '  And  I  walked 
round  the  carriage,  trying  to  think  of  some  way 
to  comfort  her,  for  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her. 
We  were  not  far  from  the  Hollow,  which  could 
only  be  reached  from  the  by-road ;  and  we 
had  to  pass  the  'Stone.'  Seeing  the  quan- 
dary I  was  in,  she  cheered  up,  and  said : 
'Well,  get  up  on  the  box,  and  let  us  go  on. 
I  am  not  going  back,  for  I  am  afraid  of  those 
men.  ...  I  would  rather  go  on  with  you ;  you 
look  like  a  kind  man.'  At  that  time,  sir,  I  was 
like  a  child  ;  I  had  not  the  stamp  of  Cain  on 
my  face.  Now  men  are  afraid  of  me ;  they 
call   me   '  Slayer.'      Then    I    too   cheered    up, 


220    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

and  mounted  the  box.  'Let  us  talk,'  said  the 
lady.  And  she  began  first  to  ask  questions 
about  me,  and  then  she  told  me  about  herself: 
that  she  was  going  to  join  her  husband,  who 
was  an  exile  belonging  to  the  wealthy  class. 
'  How  long  have  you  been  with  these  people  ? ' 
she  asked,  '  and  are  you  living  with  them  as  a 
workman,  or  in  what  capacity  ? '  —  'I  came  to 
them  very  recently,  as  a  workman,'  I  replied. — 
*  What  kind  of  folk  are  they  ?  '  — '  They  seem  to 
be  fair  sort  of  men ;  but  who  can  tell?'  I  said; 
'they  are  strict  in  their  mode  of  life;  they 
never  use  either  wine  or  tobacco.'  —  'That  is 
not  an  essential,'  she  said.  —  '  And  how  ought 
one  to  live  ? '  I  asked ;  for  I  saw  that  she  was  a 
sensible  woman,  and  thought  that  she  might 
tell  me  sometliing  worth  knowing. — '  Can  you 
read  ?  '  she  asked.  — '  Yes,'  I  answered,  '  a  lit- 
tle.'— '  What  is  the  chief  commandment  in  the 
Bible  ? '  —  '  Love,'  I  replied.  — '  You  are  right. 
And  it  says,  moreover,  there  can  be  no  greater 
love  than  when  a  man  lays  down  his  life  for 
his  brother.  That  is  the  substance  of  the  law. 
Of  course,  one  must  use  one's  reason,  too,'  she 
added,  '  and  discriminate.     But  such  forms  as 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     221 

moving  the  fingers  in  a  certain  manner^  in  order 
to  make  tlie  sign  of  the  cross,  and  abstaining 
from  the  use  of  tobacco,  are  not  essential.  .  .  / 
— '  You  are  right,'  I  replied  ;  '  still,  some  forms 
are  needed,  to  remind  a  man  of  his  duties.' 

"Thus  we  talked  as  we  drove  leisurely  along. 
We  came  to  a  small  stream  in  the  woods,  which 
we  had  to  cross.  It  was  a  shallow  stream,  and, 
during  the  dry  season,  all  one  had  to  do  was  to 
give  the  ferry-boat  a  push  and  it  would  touch 
the  opposite  shore ;  there  was  no  need  of  a 
ferry-man.  The  children,  waking,  opened  their 
eyes,  and  saw  that  it  was  night-time.  The 
soughing  of  tlie  forest,  the  starlit  sky  over- 
head, the  moon  rising  before  daybreak,  ...  all 
this  was  a  novel  sight  for  them,  ...  of  course, 
they  didn't  know  much  about  such  things ! 

"  When  we  drove  into  the  woods,  I  was  fairly 
startled,  and  my  heart  almost  stopped  beating, 
for  what  did  I  see  but'  a  figure  on  horseback 
ahead  of  us !  I  could  not  see  distinctly,  but  I 
thought  I  recognized  Bezrtiky's  gray  horse,  and 
I  could  hear  the  clatter  of  his  hoofs.  My 
heart  sank  within  me.  '  What  is  going  to 
happen  now  ? '  I  thought.     '  Why  did  the  old 


222    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEUIAN  TOUBIST. 

man  come  out  here  ? '  Now,  it  had  seemed  to 
me  like  a  foreboding  of  evil  when  he  reminded 
me  of  my  oath,  just  before  we  started.  .  .  . 
Until  that  evening  I  had  thought  a  good  deal 
of  the  old  man,  although  I  must  confess  I 
always  stood  in  awe  of  him  ;  but  now  I  began 
to  be  really  afraid  of  him  —  the  very  thought 
of  his  face  made  me  shiver. 

"  As  I  sat  there,  without  moving,  my  mind 
seemed  paralyzed  and  I  could  scarcely  hear  a 
sound.  The  lady  spoke  now  and  then,  but  I 
was  unable  to  answer  her ;  at  last  she  gave  up 
trying  to  talk,  and  there  she  sat,  the  poor 
creature !  .  .  . 

*'  We  had  now  entered  an  impenetrable  for- 
est. My  spirits  were  gloomier  than  the  night 
itself.  I  was  half-unconscious,  but  the  horses, 
familiar  with  the  road,  carried  us  along  with- 
out my  guidance,  toward  that  self-same  stone. 
We  reached  it,  .  .  .  and  there,  just  as  I  antici- 
pated^  stood  the  gray  horse  across  the  road, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  bestriding  him 
gleamed  lil^e  two  coals  of  fire,  so  help  me  God ! 
.  .  .  The  reins  fell  from  my  hands,  and  my 
horses,  coming  up  to  the  gray  hprse,  stopped  of 
their  own  accord. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     223 

" '  Fe6dor ! '  said  the  old  man,  '  get  down  ! ' 
I  jumped  down  from  the  box,  and  he  himself 
dismounted,  having  placed  his  horse  directly  in 
front  of  the  tr6ika,  which  stood  perfectly  still, 
as  if  bewitched;  I  too  seemed  to  be  under  a 
spell.  He  came  up  to  me,  and  said  something ; 
then,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  he  led  me  to  the 
carriage,  and  I  discovered  that  I  was  holding 
an  axe !  .  .  .  I  yielded  to  him,  ...  for  I  had 
not  the  courage  to  resist,  villain  that  he  was. 
'Sin,  and  j^ou  will  repent  afterwards.  .  .  .  ' 
What  else  he  said  I  know  not.  We  went  up 
to  the  carriage.  He  stood  beside  me.  'First 
strike  the  woman  on  the  head ! '  I  looked 
into  the  carriage.  There  sat  the  lady,  like  a 
wounded  dove,  shielding  her  children,  and 
gazing  at  me  with  all  her  eyes.  My  heart 
quivered.  .  .  .  The  children  were  awake ; 
they  looked  like  birdlings.  I  cannot  tell 
whether  they  understood  what  was  going  on, 
or  not.  .  .   . 

"Her  gaze  seemed  to  rouse  me  as  from  a 
dream.  Lifting  the  axe,  I  turned  my  eyes 
away.  ...  But  my  heart  was  swelling  with 
rage.  ...    I  looked  at  Bezruky,  who  quailed 


224    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

beneath  my  glance.  .  .  .  Then  my  wrath  grew 
more  furious.  I  knew  that  I  was  about  to  do 
a  horrible  deed ;  but  I  had  no  pity.  Once  more 
I  looked  at  the  old  man,  whose  green  eyes 
flashed  restlessly.  .  .  .  He  was  frightened,  and 
that  made  him  wriggle  like  a  snake.  I  raised 
my  arm  and  struck  out,  .  .  .  and,  before  he 
could  groan,  I  stretched  him  prostrate  at  my 
feet,  and  then  I  stamped  upon  him  as  he  lay 
there  dead,  ...  for  I  was  like  nothing  but  an 
infuriated  beast,  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  me !  " 

The  driver  breathed  heavily. 

"And  what  happened  then?"  I  inquired, 
seeing  him  thoughtful  and  silent. 

''What  did  you  say?"  he  replied;  "you 
want  to  know  what  happened  next?  Well,  as 
I  said,  I  was  stamping  on  him  as  he  lay  there 
dead,  when,  behold  !  I  saw  Ivan  Za^kharof  gal- 
loping towards  us,  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand.  I 
turned  just  as  he  reached  us,  .  .  .  and  I  should 
have  certainly  finished  him,  as  I  did  Bezruky, 
only,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  he  had  the  sense  to 
turn  back.  Just  as  soon  as  his  eye  lighted  on 
me,  he  turned  his  horse,  dealing  him  heavy 
blows    with    the    rifle.      The    horse    actually 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     225 

howled  like  a  human  being,  and  flew  like  a 
bird. 

"When,  at  last,  I  came  to  my  senses,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  could  not  look  any  one  in 
the  eye.  ...  I  mounted  the  box  and  gave  the 
horses  the  lash,  .  .  .  but  they  refused  to  start, 
.  .  .  and  then  I  saw  that  the  gray  horse  was 
still  barring  the  way.  I  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  been  trained  to  do  that.  I  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  as  it  came  to  my  mind  that  I  might 
have  to  kill  that  cursed  horse  also.  I  went  up 
to  him,  but  he  remained  motionless  except  for 
the  movement  of  his  ears.  I  pulled  him  by 
the  rein,  but  he  would  not  stir.  'You  had 
better  get  out  of  the  carriage,  madam,'  I  said, 
'for  the  horses  might  become  frightened  and 
run,  because  of  this  horse,  which  persists  in 
standing  right  in  front  of  them.'  Obedient  as 
a  child,  the  lady  got  out,  and  the  children  fol- 
lowed, clinging  to  their  mother.  The  place 
itself  was  dark  and  gloomy ;  that  alone  fright- 
ened them,  and  then  to  see  me  in  trouble  with 
these  devils. 

"I  backed  my  tr6ika,  took  up  the  axe  once 
more,  and  went  close  to  the  gray  horse.     '  Get 


226    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOUBIST, 

out  of  the  way,'  I  cried,  '  else  I  will  kill  you  I ' 
He  pricked  up  his  ears,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  I 
will  not  budge.  .  .  .  The  deuce  take  you ! ' 
.  .  .  Everything  grew  blurred  before  my  eyes. 
My  hair  seemed  to  stand  on  end.  .  .  .  Swinging 
the  axe,  I  struck  him  on  the  head  with  all  my 
might.  .  ,  .  He  uttered  a  scream,  and  fell  down 
dead.  ...  I  took  him  by  the  legs,  dragged  him 
towards  his  master,  and  then  I  put  them  side  by 
side,  near  the  edge  of  the  road.  '  Stay  there, 
will  you ! ' 

"'Get  in,'  I  said  to  the  lady.  She  helped 
the  younger  children  first,  but  had  not  strength 
enough  left  to  get  the  oldest  one  in.  ...  '  Will 
you  help  me?'  she  said.  As  I  went  up  to  them, 
the  boy  put  out  his  arms  to  me,  and  I  was  about 
to  lift  him  up,  when  I  remembered.  .  .  .  '  Take 
the  child  away,'  I  cried ;  '  I  am  stained  with 
blood,  and  am  not  fit  to  touch  him !  .  .  .' 

"  Finally  they  managed  in  some  way  to  get 
into  the  telyega,  and  I  took  the  reins  ;  but  the 
horses  snorted,  and  refused  to  stir.  What  was 
I  to  do  ?  '  Put  the  baby  on  the  box,  .  .  .'  I 
said.  She  placed  the  child  beside  me,  holding 
him  from  behind.     I  gave  the  horses  a  blow 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     227 

with  the  reins,  and  they  started  on  the  run.  .  .  . 
just  as  you  saw  them  a  short  time  ago.  They 
ran  to  escape  the  scent  of  blood. 

''In  the  morning  I  brought  the  lady  to  the 
local  police-quarters  in  the  village,  and  there  I 
told  my  story.  '  Arrest  me,  for  I  have  killed  a 
man.'  The  lady  told  them  just  how  it  all  hap 
pened.  '  This  man  saved  my  life,'  she  said. 
They  bound  me  with  ropes,  and  she  cried  at  the 
sight,  poor  dear  !  '  Why  do  you  bind  him  ?  He 
did  a  good  deed  ;  he  saved  my  children  from 
murderers !  .  .  .'  She  was  a  determined  one ! 
Seeing  that  no  one  heeded  her  words,  she  tried 
to  untie  the  ropes  with  her  own  hands,  but  I 
stopped  her.  'Don't  do  that,'  I  said.  'Don't 
be  anxious  about  this  matter  ;  it  is  no  longer  in 
the  hands  of  man,  but  in  the  care  of  the  Lord. 
Whether  I  am  guilty  or  innocent,  God  and  the 
world  will  judge.  .  .  .'  —  'How  can  you  be 
guilty  ?  '  she  said.  — '  It  was  my  pride,'  I  replied  ; 
'  my  guilt  sprang  from  my  pride.  I  thought  I 
was  better  and  wiser  than  most  men,  and  I  be- 
came intimate  with  those  wretches  because  I 
was  too  proud  to  take  advice,  and  through  my 
own  self-conceit  I  have  become  a  murderer.  .  .  .' 


228    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

She  yielded  at  last  to  my  remonstrances,  and 
desisted.  When  she  came  to  bid  me  good-by, 
in  her  compassion,  she  embraced  me.  .  .  .  '  My 
poor  fellow ! '  she  said,  and  bade  the  children 
kiss  me.  'No,  no!'  I  exclaimed;  'don't  stain 
the  children  ;  I  am  a  murderer  !  .  .  .'  I  feared 
lest  the  children  might  shrink  from  me.  But 
she  lifted  the  two  younger  ones  in  her  arms, 
and  the  oldest  one  came  of  his  own  accord,  and 
when  he  put  his  arms  around  my  neck  I  broke 
down,  and  burst  out  sobbing.  I  could  not  con- 
trol myself.  Oh,  what  a  kind-hearted  lady  she 
w^as!  .  .  .  Maybe  the  Lord  will  forgive  me, 
for  her  sake.  .  .  . 

" '  If  there  be  any  justice  in  this  world,'  she 
said  to  me,  'we  will  obtain  it  for  you.  I  shall 
not  forget  you  as  long  as  I  live ! '  And  she  was 
as  good  as  her  word.  You  know  what  our 
courts  are,  .  .  .  continual  delays.  I  should 
have  been  in  prison  up  to  this  day,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  efforts  that  she  and  her  husband 
made  to  gain  my  release." 

"  Then,  you  were  imprisoned  for  some 
time?" 

"  Yes,  for  quite  a  while.     And  the  want  of 


SKLTCUES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST,     229 

money  was  the  cause  of  it.  After  a  time  she 
sent  me  half  a  thousand  rubles,  and  she  and  her 
husband  wrote  me  a  letter.  As  soon  as  it  was 
known  that  money  had  come,  my  case  began  to 
move  at  once.  The  inspector  appeared,  and  I 
was  called  to  the  office.  '  Your  case  is  before 
me,'  he  said  ;  '  now,  how  much  will  you  give  me 
if  I  make  it  all  right  ? ' 

" '  A  fine  official  you  are ! '  I  thought  to  myself; 
'  and  what  is  it  that  he  wants  to  be  paid  for  ? 
Instead  of  judging  me  fairly,  according  to  the 
law,  for  which  I  should  be  truly  thankful,  he 
asks  for  a  bribe.  .  .  .' 

"  '  I  will  give  you  nothing,'  I  said ;  '  judge  me 
according  to  the  law.  ,  .  .' 

"  He  laughed.  '  I  see  that  you  are  a  fool ! 
The  law  admits  of  two  interpretations ;  but 
that  has  been  shelved,  and,  meanwhile,  I  have 
the  authority  in  my  hands.  It  is  in  my  power 
to  put  you  wherever  I  please.' 

"  '  How  so  ? ' 

"  '  It  is  a  simple  matter.  You  appear  to  be  a 
stupid  fellow.  Listen  !  You  will  say,  in  your 
defence,  that  you  saved  the  lives  of  this  lady 
and  her  children.' 


230     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST, 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said.    '  What  then  ?  ' 

"'Very  well;  and  tliis  might  be  attributed 
to  you  as  an  act  of  virtue,  for  it  is  a  good  deed. 
That  is  one  view  of  the  case.' 

"  '  And  what  is  the  other  one  ?  '   I  asked. 

"  '  The  other  one  ?  Simply  this.  Consider 
your  strength,  see  what  a  giant  you  are  I  The 
old  man  was  like  a  child  in  your  hands. 
When  he  suggested  what  you  say,  you  should 
have  politely  tied  his  hands  and  brought  him 
before  the  authorities ;  but,  instead  of  doing 
tliis,  you  dealt  him  a  blow  which  felled  him  to 
the  ground.  That  was  a  lawless  act,  and  one 
that  you  had  no  right  to  commit.  You  under- 
stand ?  ' 

"  '  I  do,'  I  said.  '  I  see  that  I  can  find  no 
justice  !  But  I  will  give  you  nothing !  You 
are  not  the  judge,  and  this  is  not  impartial 
judgment !  ' 

He  was  angry. 

"  '  Very  well,  then  ! '  said  he.  '  You  may  rot 
in  jail  while  your  suit  is  going  on ! ' 

" '  All  right,'  I  said  ;  '  but  you  need  not 
threaten.' 

"  And  so  he  had  me  locked  up  in  jail.   But  the 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     231 

lady  persisted  ;  she  went  so  far  as  to  intercede 
for  nie  with  the  liigher  authorities,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  a  document  was  received  that 
made  it  hot  for  the  inspector.  One  day  I  was 
summoned  to  the  office,  and,  after  a  great  deal 
of  loud  talking,  was  at  last  released.  So,  after 
all,  I  had  no  trial  .  .  .  and  I  hardly  know  .  .  . 
I  have  been  told  that,  nowadays,  justice  is  to 
be  found  in  our  courts,  and  I  sometimes  wish 
I  could  be  tried  by  a  jury  and  abide  by  their 
verdict." 

"  And  what  became  of  Ivan  Zakharof  ?  " 
''  Ivdn  Zakharof  has  never  been  heard  from 
since.  It  was  said  that  he  and  Bezruky 
planned  that  the  former  was  to  follow  me  at 
a  short  distance,  and,  if  I  should  refuse  to 
commit  the  murder,  Zakharof  was  to  shoot  me. 
But  you  see  it  was  not  the  will  of  the  Lord, 
...  for,  when  Zakharof  arrived  upon  the 
scene,  everything  was  all  over,  and  he  took 
fright.  I  heard  that,  when  he  returned,  he 
went  directly  to  work  to  dig  up  his  money  ; 
and,  having  done  this,  he  made  for  the  woods, 
without  saying  a  word  to  any  one.  .  .  . 
Tow^ards     morning     the     house     caught    fire. 


232    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOUBIST. 

Whether  he  set  it  on  fire  acciclentally,  or 
whether  it  was  done  by  Kuzma,  was  never 
known;  but  one  thing  is  certain — that,  by 
night-fall,  nothing  was  left  of  it  but  a  bed  of 
coals,  and  thus  the  rogues'  nest  was  destroyed. 
The  women  are  beggars  to  this  day,  and  the  son 
is  a  convict,  for  he  had  no  money  to  buy  him- 
self off. 

"  Ho  !  .  .  .  my  dearies,  we  have  arrived, 
thanks  be  to  God !  See,  the  sun  is  just 
rising  !  .  .  ." 


IV.      , 

A  YOLTAIKIAN   OF  .SIBERIA. 

A  MONTH  passed.  I  had  transacted  my  busi- 
ness, and  was  returning  to'th^  city  of  N.  by 
post  relays. 

About  noon  we  reached,  the  station,  where 
the  stout  postmaster  stood  on  the  porch,  smok- 
ing a  cigar. 

''  I  suppose  you  want  fresh  horses  ? "  he 
asked,  before  I  had  time  to  utter  a  greeting. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     233 

.  "  All  gone  !  " 

"  Please,  don't  say  that,  Vasili  Ivdnovitch ! 
Cannot  I  see  that  .  .  ." 

For  I  distinctly  saw  a  partly  harnessed  troi'ka 
standing  under  the  shed. 

He  laughed. 

"  Truly,  I  know  you  are  not  in  haste  just 
now,  and  I  will  ask  you  to  wait  awhile." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  Are  you  expecting  the 
governor  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  high  a  personage  as  the  gov- 
ernor, I  should  hope  ;  no,  only  a  privy  coun- 
cillor, but  I  should  like  to  accommodate  this 
fellow.  .  .  .  Don't  get  vexed,  for  I  am  quite 
as  anxious  to  accommodate  you ;  but  your 
need  is  not  urgent,  and  this  is  in  the  interests 
of  justice  and  humanity  in  general,  so  to 
speak." 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  justice  ?  What 
business  is  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  wait  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
But  why  stand  here  ?  Come  into  my  '  cabin,' 
will  you  ?  " 

I  agreed,  and  followed  Vasili  Ivdnovitch  into 
his   "  cabin,"   where   his   wife,   a   stout,  good- 


234    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEIilAN  TOURIST. 

natured  person,  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  tea- 
table. 

"You  were  speaking  about  justice,"  began 
Vasili  Ivanovitch ;  "  have  you  heard  the  name 
of  Proskurof  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not." 

"  How  should  he  ? "  interposed  Matrona 
Ivanovna.  "  He  is  just  such  another  lawless 
fellow  as  my  husband ;  he  even  writes  for  the 
papers." 

''  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  Matrona 
Ivanovna,"  said  Vasili  Ivanovitch,  warmly; 
"Proskur6f  is  a  highly  respectable  man,  and  in 
favor  with  his  superiors.  You  ought  to  burn  a 
wax  taper  to  my  patron  saint  as  a  thanks-offer- 
ing (or  your  husband's  respectable  acquaint- 
ances. If  that's  your  opinion  in  regard  to 
Proskurof,  I  should  like  to  ask  if  you  suppose 
that  they  would  send  a  good-for-nothing  man  as 
examining  magistrate  on  such  important  busi- 
ness as  this  ?  " 

/'What  are  you  talking  about?"  I  inquired. 
"  What  about  an  examining  magistrate  on  im- 
portant business?  " 

''  That's  what  I  say !  "  said  Matrona  Ivanovna, 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     235 

encouraged.  "  I  think  you  are  talking  nonsense. 
Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool,  pray?  Do  impor- 
tant magistrates  look  like  that  ?  " 

"  You  have  made  Matr6na  Ivanovna  doubt 
me,"  said  tlie  station-master,  shaking  his  head 
reproachfully,  "  and  without  any  sufficient 
knowledge  on  your  part.  True,  no  office  like 
that  exists;  but  if  a  man  is  appointed  owing  to 
the  special  confidence  that  is  reposed  in  him,  it 
is  still  better.  ..." 

''I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  complain  of;  you  admit 
that  you  don't  understand,  and  yet  you  don't 
hesitate  to  excite  doubts  in  the  mind  of  an  in- 
experienced woman  !  Yes,  and  are  you  not 
aware  that  a  stock-company,  so  to  speak,  has 
been  organized,  that  manages  all  this  highway 
and  dark  night  business?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  know  nothing  about  it !  " 

"  I  have  heard  such  rumors,  of  course." 

"  I  thought  you  must  have  heard  of  it.  It  is 
a  company  that  embraces  every  class  of  society. 
The  business  is  conducted  on  a  large  scale,  hav- 
ing for  its  motto  :  '  One  hand  washes  the  other.' 


236    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

Tliej  have  no  objection  to  a  certain  notorietj^ ; 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  every  one  knows  of  the  ex- 
istence of  such  a  company,  and  even  the  names 
of  the  individuals  who  are  interested  in  it.  I 
say  every  one  —  His  Excellency,  of  course,  ex- 
cepted. Not  very  long  ago,  a  notorious  affair 
occurred,  after  which  His  Excellency  conceived 
a  brilliant  idea.  He  had  come  to  the  determi- 
nation that,  if  it  was  possible,  this  evil  should  be 
suppressed.  Of  course,  such  attempts  have 
been  made  before.  The  members  of  the  com- 
pany, for  instance,  have  suppressed  themselves, 
and  all  ended  well.  But  this  time  the  idea  was 
particularly  brilliant.  His  Excellency  was  very 
much  enraged,  and  empowered  his  private 
clerk,  Proskur6f,  with  ample  authority  to  act  on 
every  occasion — not  only  in  regard  to  affairs 
that  have  already  taken  place,  but  also  in  all 
future  ones  or  in  such  as  might  have  any  con- 
nection with  those  that  had  previously  oc- 
curred." 

"  What  is  there  so  remarkable  in  that  ?  " 
''Well,  sometimes  the  Lord  sees   fit  to   en- 
lighten even  babes.     But  the  wonder  is  that  an 
honest  and  energetic  man  has  been  found :  he 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     237 

lias  been  engaged  in  this  business  of  suppres- 
sion for  the  past  three  months,  and  such  a  com- 
motion as  he  has  raised,  the  Lord  help  us ! 
About  a  dozen  horses  have  been  ruined." 

"  Well,  what  good  does  that  do  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  Proskur6f  who  ruined  the 
horses.  .  .  .  He  would  not  do  such  a  thing.  It 
is  the  rural  police,  the  men  who  follow  him 
about  on  private  horses  —  competition,  you 
know  —  trying  to  get  ahead  of  him  and  to  be 
the  first  on  the  spot  where  a  crime  has  been 
committed,  for  the  sake  of  duty,  of  course. 
However,  they  seldom  succeed.  Proskurof  is 
our  Lecocq.  Once,  to  be  sure,  they  succeeded 
in  stealing  some  evidence  from  under  his  very 
nose.  ...  He  felt  much  aggrieved  at  it,  poor 
fellow,  so  much  so  that  he  actually  forgot  him- 
self in  the  official  report,  and  stated '  that,  owing 
to  the  endeavor  of  the  rural  police,  all  measures 
had  been  taken  to  conceal  the  evidences  of 
crime  ! '     Ha-ha-ha !  " 

"  Yes,  that's  the  reason  why  I  say  that  he  is 
a  case  —  like  yourself !  " 

"  No,  he  is  all  right,"  rejoined  Vasili  Ivdno- 
vitch.     "  And,  supposing  he  did  make  a  blun- 


238     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

der,  that  is  what  might  happen  to  the  most 
careful  person.  He  acknowledged  his  own 
mistake,  when  they  pressed  him,  and,  to  justify 
himself,  he  declared  that  it  was  a  clerical  error. 
'  Guard  against  such  errors  in  the  future,'  was 
the  reply,  'lest  you  be  discharged  on  account 
of  poor  health.'  He  is  a  funny  fellow,  I  must 
say  !     Ha-ha-ha  !  " 

"  And  what  have  you  to  do  with  all  this  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  I  lend  my  co-operation.  Ask  my  wife  ;  we 
have  a  regular  compact  —  a  secret  treaty. 
He  does  the  suppressing,  and  I  always  keep 
horses  in  readiness  for  him.  For  instance, 
to-day  a  murder  was  committed  somewhere 
along  the  highway,  and  his  man  was  de* 
spatched  to  inform  him  of  it,  which  means 
that  the  '  Eradicator '  himself  will  be  here 
shortly  ;  so  my  horses  are  partly  ready,  and, 
moreover,  I  have  sent  word  to  my  colleagues  to 
have  others  in  readiness  at  their  stations.  So, 
you  see,  even  though  one  occupies  the  humble 
post  of  station-master,  one  may  do  some  good 
to  humanity  —  yes,  sir.  ..." 

At  the  end  of  this  tirade,  the  jolly  station- 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     239 

master  dropped  his  serious  tone  and  began  to 
laugh. 

"  Stop  laughing,"  I  said  to  him,  "and  tell  me 
seriously,  do  you  believe  in  this  policy  of 
eradication  yourself,  or  are  you  only  an 
observer  ?  " 

Vasili  Ivdnovitch  took  a  long  pull  at  his 
cigar,  and  remained  silent  for  a  time. 

At  last  he  replied,  in  an  earnest  tone,  "  Well, 
I  don't  know  that  I  have  asked  myself  this  ques- 
tion. Let  me  consider.  No,  I  cannot  say  that 
I  do !  All  this  mission  is  devilish  nonsense  ! 
He  will  soon  be  discharged ;  there  is  no  doubt 
about  that !  But  he  is  a  most  interesting  sub- 
ject. It  is  true  that,  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  I  have  very  little  faith  in  his  'success. 
Sometimes  he  appears  ridiculous  to  me  ;  still,  I 
go  on  helping  him,  and  I  dare  say  my  wife  is 
right  —  very  likely  I  shall  irritate  my  superi- 
ors against  me.  And  that  will  do  me  small 
good.  But  am  I  the  only  one  ?  There  are 
many  others  who  sympathize  with  him.  That 
is  what  makes  him  strong,  of  course.  But, 
strange  to  say,  no  one  really  believes  in  his 
success.       You     have     just    heard     Matr6na 


240    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

Ivanovna  say  that  genuine  magistrates  are  not 
like  liim,  and  that  is  only  the  echo  of  public 
opinion.  Meanwhile,  however,  while  this 
infant  pushes  ahead,  '  holding  high  his  banner,' 
as  the  papers  express  it,  every  man  with  a 
particle  of  feeling,  every  disinterested  man, 
takes  tlie  trouble  to  kick  stones  out  of  the  said 
infant's  path,  lest  he  stumble  and  fall.  Still, 
this  is  no  remedy.  ..." 

"Why  not?  With  the  sympathy  of  a  popu* 
lation,  naturally  interested  in  all  this?" 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  just  the  point !  It  is  not 
pure  sympathy!  You  will  probably  see  for 
yourself  what  kind  of  an  infant  this  is!  He 
pushes  ahead  without  discretion,  with  no  defi- 
nite plan,  quite  indiiferent  to  the  fact  that  he 
will  probably  be  gobbled  up  in  the  end. 
Meanwhile,  outsiders  look  on,  and  shake  their 
heads,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  That  infant  will  be 
eaten  up  sooner  or  later ! '  Of  course,  one 
feels  sorry  for  him.  One  says,  '  Your  path  shall 
be  smoothed  here  for  a  space,  but,  after  all  is 
done,  you  will  certainly  be  devoured  further 
on.'  But  he  recks  nothing  of  danger.  What 
does  sympathy  amount  to,  when  faith  in  the 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     241 

success  of  one's  enterprise  is  lacking?  A 
genuine  magistrate  is  needed ;  a  man  with  the 
wisdom  of  a  serpent,  one  who  knows  the  ins  and 
outs,  who  could  overawe  men  at  times,  and  not 
disdain  to  receive  a  bribe  occasionally  —  for, 
after  all,  who  can  be  a  true  magistrate  who 
refuses  that !  In  such  a  man  the  community 
would  have  faith.  He  is  the  one  to  eradi- 
cate! But,  then,  the  deuce  take  it!  there 
would  be  no  sympathy,  aud  the  matter  would 
be  attributed  to  the  clashing  of  official  interests. 
...  So  there  you  have  it !  .  .  .  Such  is 
our  country!  .  .  .  We  had  better  drink  our 
tea ! "  Vasili  Ivanovitch  finished  abruptly, 
and  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Pour  the  tea,  Matrdyntchik,"  he  said,  in 
caressing  tones,  turning  to  his  wife,  who  was 
listening  with  an  air  of  profound  interest  to  her 
husband's  words.  "And  don't  you  think  we 
had  better  take  a  glass  of  something  before 
tea?" 

Vasili  Ivdnovitch  himself  was  a  very  inter- 
esting character,  such  as  is  to  be  found  only  in 
Siberia,  for  in  no  other  country  is  one  likely  to 


242    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOUBIST. 

encounter  a  pliilosoplier  occupying  the  position 
of  station-master.  Had  Vasili  Ivanovitch  been 
an  exile,  this  would  have  been  nothing  unusual. 
Fortune's  wlieel,  in  its  rotation,  has  hurled 
many  a  man  from  high  position  into  some 
remote  corner  of  the  world,  who,  while  seeking 
to  rise  again,  introduces  into  these  lower 
spheres  new  methods  of  education  and  culture. 
But  with  Vasili  Ivanovitch  it  was  just  the 
reverse ;  in  his  radicalism  he  was  descending 
slowly  but  surely  from  the  upper  to  the  lower 
stages.  He  looked  upon  this  state  of  things 
with  the  serenity  of  a  true  philosopher.  Under 
some  educational  influence,  not  uncommon  in 
this  country  of  exiles,  he  had  in  his  youth 
acquired  the  tastes  and  inclinations  of  an 
intelligent  man,  and  had  always  prized  them 
above  all  other  advantages  of  life.  Besides,  he 
was  something  of  an  artist.  When  he  was  in 
a  mood  for  talking,  one  could  listen  to  him 
until  one  forgot  all  about  one's  own  business. 
While  he  was  relating  anecdotes  and  stories, 
and  giving  descriptipns,  a  panorama  of  the 
characteristic  and  local  types  of  the  times  pre- 
vious to  the  reform  seemed  to  pass  before  the 


SKETCHES    OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST.     243 

eyes  of  the  listener :  all  those  rapacious  and 
eager  inspectors ;  and  well  fed  bailiffs,  who  were 
beginning  to  realize  the  comforts  of  life ; 
bailiffs  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  who  had  reached 
the  height  of  felicity  ;  counsellors,  senior-coun- 
sellors, commission  employes  of  all  kinds  .  .  . 
and  enthroned  above  all  this  world,  so  familiar 
to  Vasili  Ivanovitch  in  its  minutest  details,  sat 
the  local  Jupiters  in  their  good-nature  and 
grandeur,  with  their  demonstrative  Pompadour 
storms,  their  childlike  ignorance  of  the  country, 
their  horizon  imported  from  the  St.  Petersburg 
departments,  and  the  sense  of  power  of  the 
mighty  satrap.  All  these  elements  in  the 
stories  of  Vasili  Ivdnovitch  were  vivified  by  the 
sympathetic  touches  of  the  true  artist  who 
loves  his  subject.  And  for  Vasili  Ivdnovitch, 
his  country,  although  he  often  painted  it  in 
such  unattractive  colors,  was  a  subject  of  deepest 
interest.  As  an  intelligent  man,  he  might 
truly  apply  to  himself  the  poet's  verse  :  — 
" I  love  my  country,  but  with  a  strange  love!'* 
And  his  love  was  sincere,  although  it 
brought  him  to  a  gradual  "degradation,"  as  he 
expressed    it.       When,    after     one    of     those 


244    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

reverses  brought  upon  him  by  Ins  insatiable 
craving  for  exposing  the  truth,  he  was  offered 
a  fair  position  in  Russia,  he,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, replied,  "No,  sir;  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you,  but  it  goes  against  me.  ...  I  could  not 
do  it !  What  should  I  do  there  ?  Everything 
would  be  strange  to  me.  Bless  you  !  I  should 
have  no  one  to  abuse  !  " 

Whenever  I  read  or  hear  a  comparison  be- 
tween Siberia  and  Russia  as  it  was  before  the 
reform,  a  subject  very  mu^h  in  vogue  at  one 
time,  it  always  brings  to  my  mind  one  very 
decided  difference,  which  was  personified  in  the 
stout  figure  of  my  humorous  friend.  *  The  fact 
is  that  Russia  before  the  reform  had  not  the 
advantage  that  Siberia  possesses,  of  living  in 
the  neighborhood  of  a  Russia  reformed.  For 
instance,  one  often  meets  in  Siberia  persons, 
not  particularly  intelligent  eitlier,  who  speak 
of  their  own  country  in  terms  of  ironical  criti- 
cism. Our  Russian  Skvoznik-Dmukhanovsky, 
in  the  simplicity  of  his  intellectual  directness, 
supposed  that  "  God  had  thus  ordained  it,  and 
the  disciples  of  Voltaire  vainly  rebelled  against 
it/^   The  Siberian  Skvoznik  witnessed  the  disap- 


SKETCHES   OF  A    SIBERIAN   TOURIST.     245 

pearance  of  his  Russian  prototype,  saw  the 
triumph  of  the  disciples  of  Voltaire,  and  his 
directness  has  long  since  vanished.  He  is 
always  agitating,  but  has  very  little  faith  him- 
self in  his  providential  mission.  When  favor- 
able hifluences  prevail,  he  is  cheerful ;  but  let 
the  wind  blow  from  the  wrong  quarter,  he 
gnashes  his  teeth  and  grows  morbid.  True, 
there  is  always  a  slender  ray  of  hope  shining 
through  his  despair  —  "  Perhaps  the  next  time 
it  may  succeed";  but,  on  the  other  hand,  every 
hope  is  embittered  by  the  poignant  doubt, 
"  Will  it  endure  ?  "  For,  as  the  proverb  says, 
"  Chips  fly  in  Siberia  when  trees  are  felled 
beyond  the  Ural."  And  beside  him,  smiling, 
stands  the  native  "  Voltairian,"  in  his  woollen 
coat,  and  by  his  smile  he  seems  to  say,  "  Still 
alive,  my  friend  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  "  while  he 
clandestinely  scribbles  his  correspondence  for 
unlicensed  Russian  papers. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Vasili  Tvdnovitch,  after 
tea,  when,  having  lighted  our  cigars,  we  still 
continued  our  chat,  "  you  have  never  told  me 
what  happened  to  you  that  time  in  the  Hol- 
low?" 


246     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEIUAN  TOURIST, 

And  then  I  told  him  what  the  reader  already 
knows. 

Vasili  Ivanovitch  remained  pensive,  scruti- 
nizing the  ashes  on  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

"  Yes,  they  are  peculiar  people,  no  doubt." 

"  Do  you  know  them  ?  " 

"  How  shall  I  say  ?  Yes ;  I  have  met  and 
talked  with  them,  and  have  taken  tea  with 
them,  as  I  did  with  you  just  now.  But,  as  to 
knowing  them  —  no,  I  can't  say  I  do.  I  can  see 
through  inspectors,  or  ispravniks,*  probably 
because  we  are  kindred  spirits  ;  but  those  peo- 
ple, I  must  confess,  I  do  not  understand.  But 
of  one  thing  I  am  confident,  and  that  is  that 
this  Seelin  will  come  to  an  unfortunate  end. 
He  will   be   made  way  with,  sooner  or  later." 

''  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"How  can  it  be  otherwise  !  Your  case  was 
not  the  first.  On  all  such  dangerous  expedi- 
tions, when  almost  every  driver  refuses,  they 
have  recourse  to  this  fellow,  and  he  is  always 
ready.  And  you  must  remember  that  he  never 
takes  any  weapons.  It  is  true,  he  overawes 
them  all.  Since  he  killed  Bezruky,  a  wonder- 
*  Chief  of  police  of  a  district. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     247 

ful  prestige  has  attached  itself  to  him,  and  he 
seems  to  believe  in  it  himself.  But  this  is 
only  an  illusion.  Already  they  begin  to  say 
tliat  a  cliarmed  bullet  will  kill  the  '  Slayer.' 
I  suspect  that  the  persistence  with  which  this 
Constantine  fires  at  him  is  explained  by  the 
fact  that  he  has  a  supply  of  just  such  charmed 
bullets." 


THE   EXTERMIKATOR. 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on, 
Vasili  Ivanovitch  suddenly  pricked  up  his 
ears. 

"Wait  a  moment;  I  think  I  heard  the  belL 
...  It  must  be  Proskur6f." 

And  the  sound  of  the  name  seemed  to  re- 
store Vasili  Ivdnovitch  to  his  habitual  hilarity. 
He  ran  to  the  window.  "  Just  as  I  expected ! 
There  comes  our  Exterminator !  Look  at  him, 
will  you  !  If  that  isn't  a  picture  !  Ha-ha-ha  ! 
That  is  the  way  he  always  drives.  A  truly 
conscientious  man !  "  I  went  to  the  window. 
The  bell  sounded  nearer  and  nearer.     At  first 


248    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST, 

I  could  see  only  a  cloud  of  dust  issuing  from 
the  forest  and  blowing  in  our  direction.  But 
the  road  that  skirted  the  hill  made  here  a 
sudden  turn  towards  the  station,  and,  in  this 
place,  we  could  see  the  team,  directly  below 
and  very  near  us. 

The  post-horse  troika,  harnessed  to  a  light 
tarataika,*  was  making  rapid  progress.  The 
fine  dust  and  pebbles  already  flew  from  under 
the  hoofs  of  the  galloping  horses ;  but  the 
driver,  leaning  forward,  urged  them  with  an 
occasional  shout  to  still  greater  speed.  Behind 
him  appeared  a  figure  clad  in  a  civilian's  over- 
coat and  a  uniform  cap.  Although  the  uneven 
road  pitched  the  taratdika  from  side  to  side, 
and  jolted  the  gentleman  in  the  hat  with  the 
cockade,  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  it  in  the 
least.  He  too  was  standing,  bending  forward 
over  the  box,  and  appeared  to  be  superintend- 
ing the  horses,  in  order  to  make  sure  that  each 
one  was  doing  his  share  of  the  work.  At 
times,  he  pointed  out  to  the  driver  the  one  he 
thought  ought  to  be  urged,  occasionally  taking 
the  whip  from  his  hands,  and  using  it  himself, 
*  A  two- wheeled  vehicle. 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST.     249 

ill  a  conscientious  but  awkward  way.  From 
this  occupation,  which  seemed  to  absorb  his 
entire  attention,  he  would  now  and  then  tear 
himself  away,  to  look  at  his  watch. 

During  all  this  time,  while  the  tr6ika  was 
ascending  the  hill,  Vasili  Ivanovitch  laughed 
immoderately;  but  when,  with  one  final  jerk 
of  the  bell,  it  stopped  in  front  of  the  porch, 
the  station-master  sat  there  on  the  lounge, 
smoking  his  cigar,  in  apparent  oblivion  of 
what   was   passing. 

At  first,  we  heard  nothing  but  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  tired  horses  ;  then  suddenly 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  new-comer 
burst  into  the  room.  He  was  a  man  possibly 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  rather  small  in  stature, 
but  with  an  uncommonly  large  head.  His 
broad  face,  with  its  prominent  cheek-bones, 
level  brows,  slightly  turned-up  nose,  and  thiii 
lips,  was  almost  square,  and  produced  an  effect 
of  energy  peculiar  to  itself.  His  large  gray 
eyes  looked  straight  ahead.  In  a  general  way, 
Proskur6f's  face  struck  one  at  once  by  its 
seriousness  —  an  impression  that  somehow  van- 
ished after  a  few  seconds.     The  trim,  official- 


250     SKETCHES   OF  A   SJBEIilAN   TOURIST. 

looking  side-whiskers,  wliicli  framed  liis 
smoothly  shaven  face,  the  parting  on  his 
chin,  and  certain  abrupt  motions  peculiar 
to  him,  added  at  once  a  tinge  of  comicality 
to  the  first  impression  of  this  original  person. 
Upon  entering  the  room,  Proskurof  paused 
and  glanced  about  him,  and  as  soon  as  he 
discovered  Vasili  Ivanovitch  he  approached 
him.  "Mr.  Station-Master  .  .  .  Vasili  Ivan- 
ovitch, my  dear  fellow,  let  me  have  horses  I 
For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  sir,  let  me  have 
horses,  as  quickly  as  possible  !  " 

Vasili  Ivanovitch,  who  was  stretched  out 
on  the  lounge,  assumed  a  cold,  diplomatic 
expression    of   countenance. 

"  Impossible,"  said  he  ;  "  besides,  I  believe 
you  are  not  entitled  to  post-horses,  and  the 
horses  belonging  to  the  zemstvo  *  will  pres- 
ently be  required  for  the  inspector,  who  may 
arrive   at  any   moment." 

Too  much  surprised  for  utterance  at  the  first 
moment,  Proskurof  suddenly  flared  up. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  .  .  .  Am  I  not  here 
first  ?  .  .  .  A  fine  state  of  things !  ...  In  the 
*  The  rural  authorities.  —  Te. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     251 

first  place,  you  are  mistaken  as  to  my  riglits 
about  the  post-horses;  I  have  my  travelling 
documents  with  me,  and  I  can  produce  them  if 
it  is  necessary,  .  .  .  and,  besides,  on  legal  prin- 
ciples. .  .  ." 

But  Vasili  Ivanovitch  had  already  begun  to 
laugh. 

"  The  deuce  take  you,  you  are  eternally 
joking.  You  know  I  am  in  a  Iiurry ! "  ex- 
claimed Proskur6f,  in  a  tone  of  vexation,  for 
he  had  evidently  been  caught  in  the  same  trap 
more  than  once.  "  Hurry,  for  goodness  sake  ! 
I  have  business  on  hand." 

"  I  know  it  —  a  murder  case." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  inquired  the  alarmed 
Proskur6f. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  repeated  the  post- 
master, mimicking,  him.  "  The  inspector 
knows  it  already.     He  told  me." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  replied  the  beaming 
Proskur6f.  "  They  have  not  the  least  idea  of 
it,  —  and  my  people  have  already  arrested  the 
criminal,  ...  or  I  ought  rather  to  say  .  .  . 
the  suspected  party  is  in  their  hands.  I  tell 
you   this   promises  to  be  a  famous  case  !  .  .  . 


252    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST, 

You  just  wait,  and  see  me  make  tliem  tum- 
ble!" 

"  Indeed !  You  had  better  take  care  lest 
you  tumble  yourself." 

Just  then  the  sound  of  a  bell  in  the  yard 
startled  Proskurof. 

"  Vasili  Iv4novitch,"  he  said,  in  a  coaxing 
tone,  "  I  hear  them  harnessing !  Is  that  for 
me?" 

And,  seizing  the  postmaster's  hand,  he  threw 
an  anxious  glance  in  my  direction. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  for  you  !  Be  calm  !  But 
what  business  have  you  on  hand,  really?" 

"A  murder,  my  good  fellow,  another  mur- 
der, .  .  .  and  such  a  murder!  —  with  unmis- 
takable evidence  against  the  famous  band !  I 
hold  all  the  threads.  Unless  I  am  on  the 
wrong  scent,  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  make 
some  important  personages  squirm.  Hurry, 
for  mercy's  sake  I  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes,  in  a  minute.  Where  did  It 
happen  ?  " 

"In  that  same  cursed  Hollow,  as  usual.  It 
ought  to  be  blown  up.  A  driver  was 
killed.  ..." 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST.     253 

"  What's  that  ?     A  mail  robbed  ?  " 

"No,  no  !  —  he  wasn't  a  government  driver." 

"The  'Slayer'?"  I  exclaimed,  as  a  sudden 
conviction  flashed  into  my  mind. 

Proskur6f  turned  to  me,  and  devoured  me 
with  his  eyes. 

"  Precisely  !  —  that  was  the  name  the  de- 
ceased was  known  by.  May  I  ask  what  inter- 
est you  have  in  this  matter  ?  " 

"Hm!  .  .  ."  muttered  Vasili  Ivd^novitch,  and 
a  roguish  look  danced  in  his  eyes.  "  Examine 
hiin — you  had  better;  examine  him  carefully." 

"  I  met  him  once,"  I  said. 

"  Just  so,  .  .  ."  drawled  out  Vasili  Iv4n- 
ovitch,  "you  met  him.  .  .  .  Might  one  ask  if 
there  was  any  enmity  or  rivalry  between  you, 
or  were  you,  perhaps,  expecting  some  legacy 
after  his  death  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  stop  joking.  What  an 
insufferable  man  you  are  !  "  rejoined  Proskurof, 
pettislily,  and  then,  addressing  himself  to  me, 
he  continued:  — 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  sir !  I  had  no  intention 
of  dragging  you  into  this  business,  but  you 
understand,  .  .  .  the  interests  of  justice '•  .  ." 


254    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOURIST. 

"  Of  humanity  and  the  safety  of  mankind," 
interposed  the  incorrigible  postmaster. 

"  In  short,"  continued  Proskur6f,  giving 
Vasili  Iv4novitch  a  savage  ghince,  "I  was 
only  about  to  say  that,  since  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  citizen  to  promote  the  interests  of  jus- 
tice, if  you  can  communicate  to  me  any  infor- 
mation in  regard  to  this  matter,  you  must 
perceive  that  you  are  under  the  obligation  to 
do  so." 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  "  how  much  the 
information  I  possess  would  help  the  case.  I 
should  be  very  glad  if  my  testimony  should 
prove  useful." 

"Good!  Such  promptness  does  you  credit, 
my  dear  sir.  May  I  ask  with  whom  I  have  the 
honor  ..." 

I  told  him  my  name. 

"  Afan4sy  Iv4novitch  Proskurof,"  he  said  in 
his  turn.  "You  have  just  spoken  of  your 
desire  to  promote  justice.  Now,  I  propose  that, 
in  order  not  to  do  the  thing  half-way,  you 
would  consent,  my  dear  sir,  ...  in  a  word, 
.  .  .  would  you  be  willing  to  go  with  me 
now?" 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOUBIST.     255 

Vasili  Ivdiiovitcli  laughed. 

"Well,  if  ever!  .  .  .  This  beats  all!  Do 
you  propose  to  arrest  him?" 

I  made  haste  to  reassure  him,  telling  him 
that  I  never  for  a  moment  suspected  such  a 
thing. 

"And  Vasili  Ivdnovitch  is  only  joking,"  I 
added. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  understand  me  ;  my 
time  is  precious.  We  shall  make  but  few 
changes  after  this,  and  you  will  tell  me,  on  the 
way,  all  that  you  know  of  the  matter;  and  it 
so  happens  that  I  have  no  clerk  with  me." 

There  was  no  reason  why  I  should  refuse. 

"I  was  just  on  the  point  myself  of  asking 
you  to  take  me  along,  as  I  am  very  much  inter- 
ested in  this  affair." 

The  image  of  the  "  Slayer  "  rose  before  me : 
his  sombre  countenance,  the  lines  of  agony  on 
his  brow,  and  the  brooding  anxiety  expressed 
in  his  eyes.  —  "He  is  bringing  the  cormorants 
down  upon  me,  the  cursed  rascal !  "  My  heart 
sank  within  me  as  I  recalled  his  gloomy  fore- 
bodings. Now  these  cormorants  circle  around 
him,  as  with  closed  eyes  he  lies  in   the  dark 


256     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST, 

Hollow,  that  once  before  cast  its  ominous 
shadow  over  his  unsullied  life. 

"  Halloo  !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  Vasili  Ivdn- 
ovitch,  peering  through  the  window.  "  Can  you 
tell  me,  Afandsy  Ivanovitch,  who  that  is  driv- 
ing out  of  the  forest?" 

Proskur6f  threw  one  hasty  glance,  and 
started  instantly  for  the  door. 

"  Come,  let  us  hurry,  for  goodness'  sake ! " 
.  he  called  out  to  me,  seizing  his  hat  from  the 
table;  and,  as  soon  as  I  could  get  ready,  I  fol- 
lowed him,  and  found  our  spirited  troika  just 
driving  up  to  the  entrance. 

Glancing  in  the  direction  of  the  forest,  I  saw 
a  cart  rapidly  approaching,  whose  passenger 
from  time  to  time  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  the 
alternate  rise  and  fall  of  his  arms  indicated 
some  kind  of  performance  from  behind  the 
back  of  the  driver.  The  slanting  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  scintillated  here  and  there  on  his 
buttons  and  shoulder-straps.  When  Proskurof 
paid  the  driver  who  had  brought  him,  the  latter 
grinned  by  way  of  expressing  his  gratification. 

"Many  thanks,  Your  Excellency  !  ..." 

" Have  you  told  your  comrade? — that  fellow, 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBETtlAN  TOURIST,     257 

I  mean,"  said  Proskur6f,  pointing  towards  the 
new  driver. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  told,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Then,  look  out !  "  said  the  examining  mag- 
istrate, as  he  took  his  seat  in  tlie  cart.  "  If  you 
get  us  there  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  you  shall 
have  a  ruble;  but  if  you  are  a  minute  too 
late,  only  one  minute  too  late,  you  under- 
stand!  .  .  ." 

The  last  sentence  was  not  completed ;  for  at 
this  moment  the  horses  started  abruptly,  and 
the  words  were  stifled  in  Proskurdf's  throat. 


VI. 

YEVSEYITCH. 


The  city  of  B.  was  some  twenty  versts  dis- 
tant. At  first  Proskur6f  looked  at  his  watch 
every  instant,  reckoning  the  distance  already 
traversed,  and  once  in  a  while  he  glanced  over 
his  shoulder;  but  at  last,  seemingly  satisfied 
with  the  pace  at  which  the  troika  was  carrying 
us  along,  and  convinced  that  no  one  was  fol- 
lowing us,  he  turned  to  me. 


258     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  know  about  tliis 
affair?" 

Then  I  told  him  about  my  adventure  in  the 
Hollow,  and  the  driver's  apprehensions  regard- 
ing a  threat  uttered  by  one  of  the  robbers, 
whom  I  suspected  to  have  been  the  merchant. 
Proskur6f  drank  it  all  in. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  when  I  paused,  "all  this 
will  have  its  weight.  But  do  you  remember 
the  faces  of  those  men  ?  " 

"  Yes,  excepting  the  merchant's." 

Proskurof  gave  me  one  reproachful  glance. 

"  Goodness ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  his  bitter 
disappointment  revealed  itself  in  his  voice. 
"  He  of  all  others !  Of  course,  you  are  not  to 
blame ;  but  he  was  just  the  one  you  ought  to 
have  remembered.  Too  bad !  Too  bad  !  How- 
ever, he  will  not  escape  the  clutches  of  the 
law." 

In  less  than  an  hour  and  a  half  we  reached 
the  station.  Having  given  orders  to  have 
fresh  horses  harnessed  as  soon  as  possible, 
Proskurof  sent  for  the   sotsky.* 

A  small  peasant,  with  a  thin  beard  and 
*  One  of  the  inferior  village  authorities.  —  Tk. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST.     259 

roguish  eyes,  made  liis  appearance.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  face  betokened  a  mixture  of 
good-nature  and  rascality,  but  the  general 
impression  was  favorable  and  attractive.  In 
his  well  worn  smock-frock  and  shabby  clothes 
there  were  no  signs  of  affluence.  On  entering 
the  hut,  he  bowed,  then  looked  behind  the 
door,  as  though  to  assure  himself  that  there 
were  no  eavesdroppers  present,  and  finally 
approached  us.  He  seemed  ill-at-ease,  as 
though  he  felt  himself  to  be  in  danger  in  Pros- 
kur6f  s  presence. 

"  How  goes  it,  Yevseyitch?"  was  the  cordial 
greeting  of  the  official.  ''What  news?  Your 
bird  hasn't  flown  ?  " 

"How  could  he  fly?"  replied  Yevsdyitch, 
shuffling  his  feet :  "  he  is  well  guarded." 

''  Have  you  tried  to  talk  with  him  ?  " 

''  I  have ;  indeed  I  have.  .  .  .  But  he  does 
not  seem  inclined  to  talk.  I  tried  politeness,  at 
first;  but  I  must  confess  I  couldn't  help  threat- 
ening him,  after  a  while.  'Why  do  you  behave 
like  a  statue,  you  good-for-nothing  fellow?  Do 
you  realize  who  I  am  ? '  — '  And  who  are  you,  I 
should  like  to  know?'  —  'An  authority,  that's 


260     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAJST  TOURIST. 

who! — a  s6tskyl'  —  'Such  authorities  as  you 
we  have  slapped  in  the  face.'  What  can  you 
do  with  such  a  desperate  fellow  ?  .  .  .  a  vil- 
lain !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Proskur6f,  impa- 
tiently ;  "  be  sure  and  keep  a  sharp  watch  over 
him.     I  shall  return  in  a  short  time." 

"He  won't  run  away.  And  I  must  say, 
Your  Excellency,  that  he  is  not  troublesome. 
Most  of  the  time  he  lies  down  and  looks  at  the 
ceiling  —  whether  asleep,  or  only  resting,  who 
can  tell?  .  .  .  Once  he  got  up  and  said  he  was 
hungry,  and  I  gave  him  something  to  eat ;  then 
he  asked  for  some  tobacco  to  make  a  cigarette 
with,  and  stretched  himself  out  again." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  dear  fellow.  I  rely 
on  you,  and  when  the  surgeon  arrives  send  him 
along." 

"  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so.  But  I  was  going 
to  ask  Your  Excellency  .  .  ." 

And  once  more  Yevseyitch  went  to  the  door, 
and  looked  cautiously  around  the  vestibule. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  Proskurdf,  who 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving. 

"  I  suppose  we  understand  the  matter,"  began 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     26l 

Yevseyitch,  diplomatically,  shuffling  his  feet, 
and  casting  side-glances  at  me  ;  "  if  the  peasants 
were  to  bring  some  pressure  to  bear  now,  it 
would  be  all  right,  would  it?  .  .  .  the  whole 
mir,*  I  mean  — all  our  society?  .  .  ." 

"Well?"  said  Proskurof,  inclining  his  head 
in  order  better  to  grasp  the  sense  of  this  dis- 
connected explanation  of  the  peasant. 

"Just  consider.  Your  Excellency,  and  think 
how  it  must  be !  We  cannot  stand  this  sort  of 
thing  much  longer.  Such  trouble  !  Think  of 
the  power  they  have  in  their  hands,  and  how  suc- 
cessful they  are !  .  .  .  Now,  for  instance,  take 
that  very  same  rascal !  .  .  .  What  is  he?  There 
is  no  doubt  but  that  he  was  bribed ;  it  must 
have  been  done  for  money.  .  .  .  And  if  he 
had  refused,  they  would  have  found  another 
man." 

"That's  so,"  said  Proskur6f,  by  way  of 
encouragement,  and  evidently  very  much  inter- 
ested. "  Go  on,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  see  you 
have  a  head  on  your  shoulders.  Well,  what 
then?" 

"  Nothing ;  only  if  we  peasants  felt  that  we 
*  Village  commune.  —  Tb. 


262     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

had  some  power  behind  us,  .  .  .  perhaps,  then, 
we  might  dare  to  testify  against  them.  .  .  . 
Think  of  their  evil  doings  !  .  .  .  and  the  mir 
is  influentiah" 

"  Well,  you  must  know,  if  you  help  justice, 
justice  will  help  you,"  remarked  Proskur6f, 
with  dignity. 

"  To  be  sure,"  ejaculated  Yevs^yitch,  thought- 
fully ;  "  but,  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  cannot 
help  thinking  that,  if  Your  Excellency  should 
not  be  able  to  hold  your  own  with  the  powers 
that  be,  we  and  our  children  would  be  ruined  ; 
for  the  power  is  in  their  hands.  .  .  ." 

Proskur6f  shuddered,  as  though  touched  by 
an  electric  current,  and,  hurriedly  seizing  his 
hat,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room.  I  followed 
him,  leaving  Yevseyitch  in  the  same  perplexed 
attitude.  He  continued  to  gesticulate,  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  while  Proskurdf,  indignant,  took 
his  seat  in  the  cart. 

"  That's  the  way  it  always  is ! "  he  said ; 
"nothing  but  compromises,  whichever  way  one 
turns !  ...  If  success  is  assured  to  them,  then 
they  will  consent  to  uphold  justice.  .  .  .  What 
do   you  say   to   that  state   of    things !     It  is 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     263 

immoral  —  simply  immoral!  ...  It  indicates 
that  the  sense  of  duty  is  deficient.  .  .  ." 

"  If  you  ask  my  opinion,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
differ  from  you.  It  seems  to  me  that  they 
have  the  right  to  demand  from  the  authorities  a 
guaranty  of  protection  in  all  attempts  to  obtain 
justice.  If  this  be  denied,  tlien  what  is  the 
essence  of  authority?  —  what  meaning  does  it 
convey?  .  .  .  Do  you  not  think  that,  if  mob- 
law  is  forbidden,  that  very  fact  implies  the 
assumption  of  certain  responsibilities  ?  And  if 
they  are  not  discharged,  tlien  .  .  ." 

Proskur6f  turned  suddenly  toward  me,  and 
seemed  about  to  make  some  remark ;  but  he 
did  not  speak,  remaining  silent,  and  absorbed 
in  his  own  thoughts. 

We  had  travelled  nearly  six  miles,  and  were 
now  about  three  miles  from  the  Hollow,  when 
we  heard  the  sound  of  a  bell.  "Aha!"  said 
Proskur6f,  "  he  has  not  changed  his  horses. 
So  much  the  better;  he  has  had  no  time  to 
interview  the  prisoner.     I  thought  as  much." 


264    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

VII. 

THE  INSPECTOE. 

Whek  we  reached  the  Hollow,  the  roseate 
disk  of  the  sun  was  just  sinking  below  the 
horizon  line;  but,  although  the  deep  evening 
shadows  were  already  overspreading  the  place, 
it  was  yet  daylight.  All  was  cool  and  still. 
The  "  Stone  "  loomed  vaguely  through  the  fog, 
and  above  it  rose  the  full,  pale  moon.  The  dark 
forest  lay  wrapped  in  the  profound  sleep  of 
enchantment;  not  a  leaf  stirred.  The  silence 
was  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  the  bell,  which 
tinkled  clearly  in  the  air,  repeated  by  the 
reverberating  echo  of  the  Hollow,  and  also 
behind  us  the  sound  of  ringing  could  be  faintly 
heard. 

A  light  smoke  rose  from  the  direction  of  the 
bushes.  The  peasant  watchers  were  sitting 
silently  round  a  fire,  and  as  soon  as  they  saw  us 
they  rose,  taking  off  their  caps.  At  a  short 
distance  from  them,  under  a  linen  cover,  lay  the 
body. 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST,     265 

"  Good-evening,  boys  !  "  said  the  examiner, 
in  an  undertone. 

''  Good-evening,  Your  Excellency !  "  replied 
the  peasants. 

"Nothing  has  been  disturbed?" 

"  Nothing,  we  believe.  .  .  .  We  were  obliged 
to  do  sometliing  to  him.  .  .  .  But  we  have  not 
touched  the  animal." 

"What  animal?" 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  the  brutes  shot  the 
sorrel  horse  ?  .  .  .  The  deceased  was  returning 
on  one  of  the  side  horses."  We  saw  the  slain 
animal  lying  some  thirty  sazheii  *  from  the 
road. 

Proskur6f,  accompanied  by  the  watchers, 
went  to  inspect  the  locality  ;  he  approached  the 
deceased,  and  raised  the  covering  from  his  face. 

The  pallor  of  death  overspread  his  calm  fea- 
tures. His  dim  eyes,  turned  upwards  toward 
the  evening  sky,  wore  that  peculiar  expression 
of  bewilderment  and  inquiry  which  is  some- 
times stamj^ed  upon  the  face  of  the  dead  by  the 
last  emotion  of  departing  life.  .  .  .  The  face 
was  unsullied  by  blood. 

*  A  sazlien  is  about  seven  feet.  —  Tu. 


266     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST, 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Proskur6f  passed 
me ;  he  was  walking  toward  the  crossing, 
accompanied  by  the  peasants.  The  team  that 
we  had  heard  behind  us  had  just  arrived. 

A  middle-aged  man,  in  police  uniform,  jumped 
out,  followed  by  a  young  person  in  citizen's 
dress,  who  proved  to  be  the  surgeon.  The 
inspector  seemed  much  fatigued.  His  broad 
chest  heaved  like  a  pair  of  bellows ;  his  portly 
person,  enveloped  in  a  stylish  military  cloak, 
swayed  to  and  fro  as  he  moved,  and  his  long, 
waxed  moustache  alternately  rose  and  fell,  keep- 
ing time  to  his  puffing  and  panting.  His  long, 
curling  hair,  slightly  gray,  was  covered  with 
dust. 

"Ouf!"  he  exclaimed,  gasping.  "It's  hard 
work  to  follow  you,  Afan4sy  Ivdnovitch.  How 
do  you  do  ?  " 

"My  respects  to  you,"  answered  Proskur6f. 
"I  am  sorry  to  have  hurried  you.  I  could 
have  waited." 

"  Oh,  no  !  .  .  .  Ouf !  .  .  .  Duty  above  all 
things.  I  never  want  to  keep  any  one  wait- 
ing.    That  is  against  my  principles." 

The  inspector  spoke  in  a  hoarse  army  bass, 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     267 

the  sound  of  which  involuntarily  brought  to 
mind  the  idea  of  rum  and  Zhukof*  tobacco. 
His  small  eyes,  colorless  yet  keen,  with  rest- 
less scrutiny,  peered  in  all  directions,  and  at 
last  rested  on  me. 

''This  is  Mr.  N.,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  is 
temporarily  performing  the  duties  of  clerk," 
said  Proskurof,  as  he  introduced  me. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure  to  have  heard  of  you, 
and  am  very  happy  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance.    Bezrylof,  a  retired  captain." 

Lifting  his  hand  to  his  vizor,  he  clanked  his 
spurs  with  a  good  deal  of  style. 

"Very  well!  We  will  begin  the  investiga* 
tion,  then,  while  the  daylight  lasts,  and  make 
short  work  of  it,  in  military  fashion.  Hey, 
there!  .  .  ." 

The  watchers  came  toward  us,  and,  together, 
we  drew  near  the  dead  body.  Bezrylof  was 
the  first  to  reach  it,  and,  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence, instantly  pulled  off  the  covering. 

We   involuntarily  recoiled  at  the  spectacle 
before   us.     The  entire   chest  of  the  deceased 
displayed  gaping  wounds,  cut  and  pierced  in 
*  A  poor  quality  of  Russian  tobacco.  —  Tu. 


268    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

different  places.  An  unspeakable  horror  took 
possession  of  the  soul  at  the  sight  of  such 
traces  of  beastly  rage.  Any  one  of  these 
wounds  would  have  been  mortal,  but  it  was 
evident  that  the  majority  of  them  were  dealt 
after  death. 

Even  Bezrylof  lost  his  customary  self-pos- 
session, and  stood  motionless,  holding  in  his 
hand  the  end  of  the  covering.  His  cheeks 
grew  purple,  and  the  ends  of  his  moustache 
stood  out  like  two  spears. 

"  The  rascals  !  "  he  said  at  last,  and  heaved  a 
deep  sigh,  which  may  have  been  an  expression 
of  remorse,  knowing,  as  he  did,  that  for  him 
there  was  no  possible  retreat  from  the  path  of 
concealment  and  deception  upon  which  he  had 
entered.  Gently  replacing  the  covering,  he 
turned  to  Proskur6f,  who  had  not  once 
averted    his   eyes  from    him. 

"  If  you  are  willing,  I  wish  to  postpone  tho 
description  until  the  inquest  to-morrow," 
pleaded  the  inspector,  with  a  dispirited  look. 
..."  And  now  let  us  examine  the  locality, 
and  have  the  body  carried  to  B." 

"And  there  the  prisoner  shall  be  ques- 
tioned," replied  Proskur6f,  harshly. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     269 

A  startled  expression  came  into  Bezrylofs 
eyes,  such  as  is  seen  in  those  of  a  hunted  ani- 
mal. 

"  The  prisoner  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Have  you 
a  prisoner,  then?  .  .  .  How  happens  it  that 
I  have  not  been  .  .  .  how  is  it  that  I  knew 
nothing  of  it?" 

He  was  almost  ludicrous,  but  he  quickly 
made  an  effort  to  recover  himself.  Casting  a 
reproachful  glance  at  his  driver  and  the  peas- 
ants, he  turned  again  to  Proskur6f. 

"  Well  done  !  Matters  begin  to  look  alive 
•  .  .  remarkably  so  !  .  .  ." 


vni. 

"lYAK,   AGED   THIRTY-EIGHT   YEARS." 

About  midnight,  the  officials,  having  rested 
and  taken  tea,  began  the  inquest. 

In  a  large  room,  at  a  table  covered  with 
writing  materials,  sat  Proskurof.  His  some- 
what comical  vivacity  had  given  place  to  a 
serious  and  dignified  demeanor.  Bezrylof,  who 
had  now  regained  his  former  ease  of  the  bar- 


270     SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOXlRIST. 

racks,  had  had  time  during  his  brief  rest  to  get 
a  bath,  to  wax  his  moustache,  and  to  give  an 
extra  touch  to  his  gray  hair.  On  the  whole,  he 
was  still  a  hale  and  rather  an  elegant  man. 
Sipping  strong  tea  from  a  tumbler  that  stood 
beside  him,  he  glanced  at  the  examiner  in  a 
condescending  sort  of  way.  I  was  seated  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  table. 

"Will  you  have  the  prisoner  brought  in?" 
said  Proskurof,  looking  up  from  the  sheet  of 
paper  on  which  he  was  rapidly  writing  the 
form  of  the  interrogatories. ' 

Bezr;^lof  nodded,  and  Yevs^yitch  at  once 
rushed  out  of  the  hut. 

A  moment  later,  the  door  opened,  and  a  man 
of  tall  stature  — the  same  whom  I  had  seen  with 
Kostiushka  at  the  ferry,  gazing  at  the  clouds  — 
made  his  appearance. 

In  entering,  he  slightly  stumbled  over  the 
sill,  and,  after  a  glanpe  at  the  place,  he  walked 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  stood  still. 
His  step  was  measured  and  composed.  A 
broad  face,  with  rather  coarse  but  regular  fea- 
tures, denoted  the  utmost  indifference.  The 
blue    eyes    were    somewhat    dull,    and    gazed 


SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST.     271 

vaguely  into  space,  as  though  not  noticing 
the  objects  before  them.  His  hair  was  cut 
in  a  circle,  and  spots  of  blood  were  visible 
on  his  colored  cotton  shirt.  Proskur6f  passed 
the  paper  with  the  written  interrogatories  to 
me,  and,  having  pushed  the  pen  and  ink  in 
the  same  direction,  began  to  put  the  usual 
questions. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Ivdn,  aged  thirty-eight." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"I  have  no  home.  ...  I  am  a  vagrant.  .  .  ." 

"  Tell  me,  '  Ivan,  aged  thirty -eight,'  did  you 
murder  the  driver  Ivan  Mikh4ilof  ?" 

"I  did.  .  .  .  That's  my  doing.  Your  Excel- 
lency. .  .  .  There's  no  use  trying  to  hide  the 
fact  .  .  .  that's  evident.  .  .  ." 

"Well  said!  .  .  ."  exclaimed  Bezrylof,  ap- 
provingly. 

"  What  is  the  use  ?  —  Your  Excellency  is 
•making  unnecessary  delays !  .  .  .  There's  no 
denying  the  truth." 

After  the  first  answers  had  been  written 
down,  tlie  examiner  continued:  — 

"  At  whose  instigation  or  suggestion  did  you 


272    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN   TOURIST. 

do  tins  deed,  and  where  did  you  get  the  fifty- 
two  rubles  and  two  kopeks  which  were  found 
on  your  person  ?" 

The  vagrant  raised  his  dreamy  eyes. 

"What's  the  use  in  asking  these  questions, 
Your  Excellency  ?  You  know  your  business, 
and  I  know  mine.  I  did  it  out  of  my  own 
head ;  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  .  .  .  Myself, 
the  dark  night,  and  the  forest  .  .  .  three  of 
us!  .  .  ." 

Bezrylof  gave  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  and 
drank  half  a  tumbler  of  tea  at  one  gulp, 
bestowing,  meanwhile,  sarcastic  glances  on 
Proskurof.  Then  he  gazed  at  the  vagrant, 
admiring  the  result  of  his  model  prison-train- 
ing, as  a  discipline-loving  officer  admires  that 
of  a  well  trained  soldier. 

Proskurof  remained  impassive.  Evidently, 
he  had  expected  no  disclosures  from  the 
vagrant. 

"  Will  you  not  tell  us,"  he  went  on  with  his 
interrogatory,  "why  you  hacked  Feodor  Mi- 
khailof  in  such  a  barbarous  manner  ?  Did  you 
have  a  personal  grudge  or  hatred  against  the 
deceased  ?  " 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST,     273 

The  man  looked  up  at  the  examiner  with 
astonishment. 

"I  don't  think  I  stabbed  him  more  than 
once  or  twice  ...  I  believe.  .  .  .  Then  he 
fell.  .  .  ." 

"  Desydtnik,"  *  said  Proskurof  to  the  peas- 
ant, "hold  a  candle  so  that  the  prisoner  can 
see,  and  let  him  take  a  look  in  the  next  room." 

The  vagrant,  with  the  same  quiet  step, 
moved  towards  the  door,  and  paused,  while 
the  peasant,  taking  a  candle  from  the  table, 
entered  the  next  room. 

The  rascal  at  first  shuddered  and  drew  back, 
but,  instantly  making  an  effort  at  self-control, 
he  glanced  once  more  in  the  same  direction, 
and  crossed  over  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room. 

As  we  followed  the  movements  of  this  pow- 
erful man,  now  crushed  and  broken,  his  own 
excitement  communicated  itself  to  us. 

He  was  pale,  and  for  some  time  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  with  his  eyes  cast  down. 
Presently  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  us 
with  vague  and  uncertain  gaze. 

*  Village  policeman. — Tb. 


274    SKETCHES   OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

"  Your  Excellency !  .  .  .  Orthodox  Christians! 
,  .  . "  he  began,  in  a  pleading  voice,  "  this  is 
no  work  of  mine.  .  .  .  Upon  my  conscience,  I 
did  not  do  this !  ...  Can  it  be  that  in  my  ter- 
ror I  forgot.  .  .  .  No,  it's  impossible  !  .  .  . " 

Suddenly,  his  face  brightened,  and  for  the 
first  time  his  eyes  sparkled. 

He  came  towards  the  table,  and,  in  a  resolute 
voice,  exclaimed :  — 

"Set  this  down,  Your  Excellency.  Kos- 
tiushka  did  it.  .  .  .  Kostinkin  with  the  torn 
nostril!  It  must  have  been  he !  .  .  .  No  one 
else  would  have  so  mangled  a  human  being. 
That's  his  work.  .  .  .  Mate  or  no  mate,  it's  all 
one  to  me  .  .  .  write  it  down,  Your  Excel- 
lency!" 

At  this  sudden  outburst  of  candor,  Prosku- 
r6f  instantly  seized  paper  and  pen,  in  order  to 
write  it  himself ;  while  the  vagrant,  slowly  and 
with  visible  effort,  related  to  us  the  details  of 
this  gloomy  drama. 

He  had  escaped  from  the  prison  of  N.,  where 
he  had  been  confined  for  vagrancy  .  .  .  and 
for  some  time  remained  without  "business," 
until  he  accidentally  met  Kostitishka  and  his 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     275 

friends  in  a  certain  "  establishment."  It  was 
there  that  for  the  first  time  he  heard  them 
talking  of  the  deceased  Mikhd'ilitch. 

"'The  Slayer,'  "  they  said,  'is  a  man  who  can- 
not be  killed;  knife  and  bullet  are  powerless 
against  him,  because  he  bears  a  charmed  life.'  — 
*  Nonsense,  fellows!'  I  exclaimed;  'that  is  im- 
possible !     A  blade  will  finish  any  man  ! ' 

"  '  And  who  are  you,  may  we  ask,  and  where 
do  you  belong  ?  ' 

"  '  That's  my  affair,'  I  replied  ;  '  the  prison  is 
my  father,  and  the  forest  my  mother ;  they  are 
my  kith  and  kin.' 

"Gradually,  we  grew  more  sociable,  and  at 
last  I  joined  the  company.  They  called  for 
half  a  measure  of  wine,  and  Kostinkin  said: 
'  If  you  are  the  kind  of  man  we  can  trust, 
wouldn't  you  like  to  join  us  and  go  shares  ? ' 
—  'I  would,'  I  replied.  —  '  All  right ! '  was  the 
answer.  '  We  want  a  man  like  you.  This  busi- 
ness must  be  done  in  the  Hollow ;  it  matters 
not  whether  it  be  by  day  or  by  night.  We 
have  heard  that  a  man  is  to  carry  a  large  sum 
of  money  with  him  from  town.  But  consider ! 
are  you  sure  you  are  not  boasting  ?      If  the 


27G    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST. 

gentleman  goes  with  another  driver  we  will 
share  the  spoils  .  .  .  but  if  the  "  Slayer " 
should  be  with  him,  look  out  that  you  don't 
run  away.'  —  '  No  danger,'  I  said  ;  '  that  will 
not  happen.'  —  '  All  right !  if  you  feel  so  confi- 
dent, you  may  be  in  luck ;  a  large  reward  has 
been  offered  for  the  "  Slayer,"  and  you  will 
stand  a  chance  of  getting  it.'  " 

"A  reward  ?  "  repeated  Proskur6f ;  "  by  whom, 
may  I  ask  ?  " 

"Look  here,  sir,"  replied  the  vagrant,  "you 
listen  to  me  at  present,  and  keep  your  ques- 
tions till  by  and  by.  .  .  .  Well,  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that,  the  first  time  we  tried  it,  I  did 
get  frightened,  and  ran  away  ;  the  mate  was 
mostly  to  blame  for  that.  Mikhailitch  had 
nothing  but  a  whip  in  his  hand  when  he  came 
towards  us ;  and  Kostinkin,  with  his  rifle,  was 
the  first  to  run  ...  of  course,  I  felt  frightened 
too.  .  .  .  But  that  rascal  was  the  first  one  to 
make  fun  of  me.  He  is  very  sarcastic  —  that 
Kostinkin  !  '  Very  well,'  I  said,  '  let  us  try  it 
again.  But  let  me  tell  you  one  thing :  if  you 
run  away  this  time,  I  shall  kill  you  too.'  For 
three  days  we  stayed  in  the  Hollow,  on  the 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBEBIAN  TOUBIST.     277 

lookout  for  him.  Toward  the  evening  of  the 
third  day  he  passed  us  —  so  we  felt  sure  he 
would  have  to  return  that  night.  We  were  all 
ready,  lying  in  wait,  when  we  heard  him  com- 
ing ;  he  was  riding  one  of  the  side  horses. 
Kostinkin  fired  and  hit  the  sorrel  horse.  Mi- 
khailitch  rushed  toward  the  bushes,  just  at  the 
very  spot  where  I  stood.  .  .  .  My  heart  beat 
fast,  I  must  confess  ;  for  I  knew  that  one  of  us, 
either  he  or  I,  must  fall.  ...  So  I  made  a 
plunge  forward  and  struck  at  him  with  the 
knife,  but  missed  him.  Then  he,  seizing  my 
arm,  struck  the  knife  out  of  my  hand  and 
threw  me  to  the  ground  —  almost  crushing  me, 
in  his  great  strength.  But  just  as  he  was  about 
to  take  off  his  belt,  preparing  to  bind  me,  I 
drew  from  my  boot  another  knife,  which  I  had 
made  ready  for  just  such  a  crisis  as  this ;  and, 
bending,  I  stabbed  him  under  the  ribs.  ... 
He  gave  one  groan,,  and,  turning  me  face  up- 
wards, looked  me  in  the  eyes.  .  .  .  '  Ah,  my 
instinct  warned  me  !  .  .  .  Well,  go  thy  way, 
but  don't  torture  me.  Thou  hast  killed  me.' 
I  got  up  .  .  .  and  saw' that  he  was  in  agony. 
.  .  .  He  tried  to  lift  himself,  but  could  not. 


278    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

'  Forgive  me,'  I  cried.  —  '  Go  thy  way,  go  thy 
way !  May  God  forgive  thee  ...  as  I  do  ! ' 
Then  I  left  him,  and  I  tell  you  the  truth  when 
I  say  that  I  did  not  go  near  him  again.  .  .  . 
This  is  Kostinkin's  work;  probably,  after  I 
went  away,  he  fell  upon  him.  ..." 

The  vagrant  was  silent,  and  threw  himself  on 
the  bench,  while  Proskur6f  hastened  to  finish 
his  writing.     All  was  still. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  examiner,  "  complete 
your  frank  confession.  What  merchant  was 
with  you  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  attack, 
and  in  whose  name  did  Kostiushka  promise 
you  a  reward  for  the  murder  of  Feodor 
Mikhdilof?" 

Bezrj^lof  sat  gazing  with  disappointment  at 
the  softened  vagrant.  But  suddenly  the  latter 
rose  from  the  bench  and  resumed  his  former  air 
of  indifference. 

"  That  will  do  !  "  he  said,  firmly ;  "  I  shall 
tell  nothing  more  I  .  .  .  Enough !  .  .  .  You 
have  put  down  all  that  about  Kostiushka, 
haven't  you?  It  serves  him  right,  and  per- 
haps it  will  teach  him  better  than  to  be  such 
a  brute  in  the  future  !     You  may  as  well  order 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOUBIST,    279 

them  to  take  me  away,  Your  Excellency,  for  I 
shall  say  nothing  more." 

"  Listen,  '  Ivdn,  aged  thirty-eight,'  "  said  the 
examiner,  "  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  the  fuller  your  confession,  the  more  leni- 
ency you  may  expect  from  the  hands  of  justice. 
You  cannot  save  your  mates." 

The  va<2^rant  shruf^o^ed  his  shoulders. 

"  That  is  not  my  lookout.  It  is  all  the 
same  to  me." 

Evidently,'  there  was  no  hope  of  obtaining 
any  further  information  from  him,  and  he  was 
removed  from  the  room. 


IX. 

THE   INVESTIGATION  CONTINUED. 

It  still  remained  to  examine  the  witnesses. 

The  priest  was  expected,  to  administer  the 
oath,  and  meanwhile  they  huddled  together  at 
the  inner  wall.  The  gray  crowd,  with  sombre 
faces,  stood  shuffling  their  feet,  in  dead  silence. 
Yevs^yitch  stood  in  front.  His  face  was  red, 
his  lips  drawn  tightly  together,  his   forehead 


280    SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBERIAN  TOURIST, 

wrinkled,  and,  as  he  gazed  gloomily  from  under 
his  brows,  his  eyes  rested  alternately  on  Bezry- 
lof  and  the  examiner.  It  was  evident  enough 
that  between  this  crowd  and  Yevseyitch  a  de- 
cision had  been  reached. 

Bezrylof  sat  on  the  bench,  with  his  legs 
spread  apart,  snapping  his  fingers.  While  the 
peasants  were  entering  and  taking  their  places, 
he  gazed  at  them  attentively  and  thoughtfully ; 
then,  after  giving  them  one  cold,  disdainful 
glance,  he  turned  to  Proskurof,  nodded,  and, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  smile,  exclaimed  : 

"  By  the  way,  Afandsy  Ivanovitch,  I  almost 
forgot  to  congratulate  you !  .  .  .  I  have  a 
pleasing  bit  of  news.  .  .  .  Excuse  me  !  .  .  . 
With  all  this  business  ...  it  actually  slipped 
my  mind.  .  .  ." 

"  On  what  subject  ?  "  inquired  Proskurof, 
still  reading  over  the  deposition. 

Bezrylof  was  beaming.  "  Can  it  be  possible 
that  you  have  not  heard,  and  am  I  to  be  the 
first  to  impart  this  agreeable  intelligence !  .  .  . 
I  am  very,  very  glad !  .  .  ." 

The  examiner  raised  his  eyes  and  gazed  at 
the  inspector,  who  thereupon  came  up  to  him, 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     281 

clanking  his  spurs,  and  smiling  in  a  way  meant 
to  be  irresistible.  "  You  are  temporarily  ap- 
pointed to  the  place  of  Treasurer  of  the  City 
of  N.  ...  Of  course,  this  is  merely  a  form, 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  your  ap- 
pointment will  be  confirmed.  I  congratulate 
you,  my  dear  fellow,"  continued  Bezrylof,  in 
his  most  cordial  and  flattering  voice,  seizing 
Proskur6fs  hand;  ''I  congratulate  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

But  Proskur6f  failed  to  appreciate  these 
friendly  congratulations.  Quickly  withdraw- 
ing his  hand,  he  sprang  from  his  seat. 

"Wait,  my  dear  sir,  wait!"  he  hastily  ex- 
claimed, almost  stuttering  as  he  spoke.  "  This 
is  no  place  for  joking !  ...  no  place  what- 
ever !  .  .  ,  Perhaps  you  think  that  I  do  not  see 
through  your  policy?  .  .  .  You  are  mistaken, 
my  dear  sir !  I  am  no  calf !  .  .  .  no,  sir !  .  .  . 
no  calf!  .  .  ."  —  "God  bless  you,  Afanfey 
Iv^novitch !  what  is  the  matter  ? "  exclaimed 
Bezrylof,  in  surprise,  and,  with  a  deprecatory 
wave  of  his  hand,  he  glanced  round  the  room, 
as  if  summoning  those  present  to  contemplate 
Proskur6f's   ingratitude.     "Do    you     think    I 


282    SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST. 

should  dare  to  joke  on  such  a  subject  .  .  . 
an  official  appointment !  .  .  .  I  read  it  myself 
...  I  assure  you !  .  .  .  And,  I  must  say,  a 
very  desirable  position  it  is,"  he  continued, 
changing  his  tone,  and  again  assuming  one  of 
easy  familiarity.  "You  will  have  no  more 
trouble  with  unpleasant  cases  of  this  kind, 
while  we,  luckless  mortals  that  we  are,  must 
finish  this  one  without  your  assistance.  I  am 
sorry,  of  course !  .  .  .  Still,  I  am  delighted  for 
your  sake !  It's  an  easy,  comfortable  office 
.  .  .  ha-ha-ha!  .  .  .  One  that  exactly  .  .  . 
ha-ha-ha!  .  .  .  suits  your  temperament.  .  •  . 
And,  moreover,  you  are  likely  to  receive  .  .  . 
from  the  merchants  .  .  .  ha-ha-ha !  .  .  .  sub- 
stantial tokens  of  gratitude.  ..." 

Bezrylof  seemed  to  have  abandoned  all 
reserve,  and  his  stout  person  was  convulsed  by 
excessive  laughter.  Proskur6f  stood  before 
him  motionless,  grasping  the  table  with  both 
hands.  His  face,  which  wore  an  expression  of 
mingled  grief  and  astonishment,  lengthened 
visibly,  and  grew  fairly  livid. 

Alas,  for  him!  At  that  moment,  he  really 
made  one  think  ...  of  a  calf. 


SKETCHES  OF  A  SIBEBIAN  TOUBIST.    283 

I  glanced  at  the  peasants.  They  were 
craning  their  necks ;  only  Yevs^yitch  bent  his 
head,  as  he  had  the  habit  of  doing,  and  listened 
attentively,  without  losing  a  syllable.  As  I 
felt  no  further  interest  in  the  examination,  I 
went  out  into  the  entry,  where,  on  a  bench  in 
the  corner,  sat  the  prisoner.  At  a  short  dis- 
tance from  him  stood  several  of  the  peasant 
watchers.  As  I  drew  near,  and  seated  myself 
beside  him,  he  looked  up  and  made  room  for 
me. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  "  is  it  true  that  you 
really  felt  no  enmity  against  the  deceased 
Mikhdilof?" 

He  raised  his  calm  blue  eyes. 

"What  did  you  say!"  he  asked.  "How 
could  I  have  felt  enmity,  when  I  never  saw  him 
before  ! " 

"  Why  did  you  kill  him,  then  ?  Surely,  it 
could  not  have  been  for  the  fifty  rubles  that 
were  found  on  your  person  ?  "  —  "  No,  of  course 
not,"  ...  he  replied  thoughtfully.  "As  we 
live,  even  ten  times  that  sum  hardly  lasts  a 
week.  I  simply  wanted  to  know  ...  if  it 
was  a  possible  thing  that  a  knife-blade  could 
have  no  effect." 


284   SKETCHES  of  a  Siberian  tourist, 

''  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
killed  a  man  and  made  a  wreck  of  your  own 
life  out  of  mere  curiosity  !  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  surprise. 

"Life,  did  you  say?  .  .  .  My  own  life,  you 
mean?  .  .  .  What  is  that?  To-day  it  happens 
that  I  have  killed  Mikhailitch,  but,  if  things 
had  turned  out  differently,  he  might  have  put 
an  end  to  me.  ..." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  would  never  have  killed  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  are  right ;  had  he  killed 
me,  he  would  have  been  alive  to-day." 

The  vagrant  gave  me  a  look  in  which 
animosity  was  plainly  to  be  seen. 

"  Go  away  !     What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  said  ; 
and  then  added,  letting  fall  his  head,  "  Such  is 
my  lot !  .  .  .  " 
. "  What  is  your  lot  ?  " 

"Such  as  it  is  .  .  .  prison  life  ever  since  I 
was  a  boy." 

"  Have  you  no  fear  of  God  ?  " 

"God?"  ...  he  repeated,  smiling,  and 
tossed  his  head.  "I  squared  up  -my  accounts 
with  the  Lord  a  long  time  ago,  and  well  I 
might!    .   .    .    Considering   all   my   prayers,   I 


SKETCHES  OF  A   SIBERIAN  TOURIST.     285 

shouldn't  wonder  if  He  were  still  my  debtor. 
Look  here,  sir !  "  he  said,  changing  his  tone, 
"those  things  are  not  for  the  like  of  us.  Why 
do  you  hound  me  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  that 
such  is  my  lot !  I  can  talk  pleasantly  to 
you  here,  but  if  we  happened  to  meet  in 
the  forest,  or  as  we  did  that  time  in  the 
Hollow,  —  then,  it  would  be  a  very  different 
matter.  ...  It  is  all  fate.  .  .  .  Heigh-ho  ! " 
He  shook  his  brown  locks,  exclaiming  :  — 
'^  Won't  you  give  me  some  tobacco,  sir  ? 
I  want  it  badly  !  "  But  the  light  tone  in  which 
he  spoke  seemed  to  me  forced  and  artificial. 

I  gave  him  a  cigarette,  and,  leaving  him,  went 
out  into  the  vestibule.  Away  beyond  the 
forest  the  sun  was  just  rising ;  and  the  night- 
mist,  drifting  eastward,  rested  on  the  tops 
of  the  pines  and  the  cedars.  .  .  .  The  dew 
sparkled  on  the  grass,  and  through  the  window 
I  could  see  the  yellow  flame  of  the  tapers 
that  stood  near  the  head  of  the  corpse. 


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